


The Best Thing (the way it's supposed to be)

by gravityinglass



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, ace!luke, band formation, bisexual!calum, gay!michael, minor harry/michael, shennanigans, slow burn longfic, starting when they're fifteen and ending when they're eighteen, straight!ashton, there's pining and fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 87,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/pseuds/gravityinglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve always wanted to be in a band,” Luke admitted after a beat, looking down at his maths homework and smoothing out the edges of his paper. Michael was playing semi-viciously, jabbing at the keys. “No one’s ever wanted to, though.”<br/>“Being in a band would be awesome,” Calum said, stretching. “Mikey and I both play guitar.”<br/>“Me too,” Luke admitted. “Think you knew that, though.” Michael finally closed his game, looking up and offering Luke the first genuine smile Luke had seen from him so far.<br/>“Cal and I talked about bands, but you can’t do much with two people.”<br/>“We should be a band,” Calum said definitively. “This is a thing. We’re a band now.”<br/>Luke’s smile was bigger now. “We’re a band now,” he echoed. When he returned to his maths homework, he was outright beaming.</p><p> </p><p>Or, the story of how 5 Seconds of Summer became a band (starting from the beginning) and how Michael Clifford realized he’d always been in love with Calum Hood (not starting from the beginning, not even close), and how taking on the world turned out to be less daunting than it seemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! This is a project I've been working on for nearly a year now, my infamous Malum longfic. I've got five parts out of eight completely finished and the last three parts all fifty percent finished; it'll be updated once a week! It should end up clocking in at about 80000 words, I think. (There are currently 65,000 written, so.)  
> This fic is as canon compliant as I could make it, with as few modifications as I could make (notable points would be changing the names of the boys' exes and fudging a few dates to make the timeline work).  
> Come talk to me on tumblr at satellitesandfallingstars!  
> Title from Relient K's "The Best Thing" and 5sos' own "Long Way Home".

 

**==**

**FEBRUARY 2011** - _-Michael and Calum are 15, Luke is 14_

 ==

 

Michael was pretty sure he hated Luke Hemmings.

“He’s not that bad,” Calum protested, leaning over to steal one of Michael’s Doritos. “I don’t get why you don’t like him.”

“He’s got awful hair and he’s a jerk,” Michael said sullenly. He held the bag out for Calum--no matter how wrong Calum was about certain classmates of theirs, Cal was his best friend and therefore got as many of Michael’s snacks as he wanted. “You should hate him.”

Calum shrugged, taking a handful and settling back onto the lawn. They were probably going to get grass stains all over their uniform shirts, but it was a rare nice day in early February and Calum had insisted they sit outside for lunch rather than hide in the music room like they usually did. They were in year ten now, and Calum was bound and determined that they wouldn’t be the social rejects of the school _forever_. Or, at the very least, he wouldn’t be Michael’s _only_ friend.

It was easy enough for Calum to say--he played footie and was _good_ at it. People liked footie players; they were less inclined to like pale video game nerds who spent all their free time learning to cover pop punk songs on their guitar and flunking music class.

“I’ve got nothing against him, but you’re not usually wrong about people.” Calum shrugged, stuffing the Doritos into his mouth. “We’re not going to, like, egg his house, though, right?”

Michael paused to consider that. “How many eggs would you _need_ to egg a house?”

“We’re not egging his house.”

“Hypothetically, I mean.”

“We’re not egging his house.” Calum dusted his hands off, getting Dorito powder everywhere and grimaced when he saw Michael sprinkling his hands off. “That’s disgusting, Mike.”

“What?”

“The sprinkling thing, you’re getting your germs all over everything in the bag.”

“It’s just chip dust!”

“It’s _gross_.”

“It’s the _exact same thing_ you just ate!” Michael pouted, alternately glaring at Calum and the foil packet.

“Luke Hemmings wouldn’t do that,” Calum said, to get a rise out of Michael. “I bet he--”

Michael shrieked and tackled Calum, definitely getting grass stains over the back of Calum’s school blouse. They wrestled for a bit, ending with Calum sitting on Michael’s stomach and eating his Doritos as Michael protested loudly. The benefits of being a footie player with a lazy arse best friend--he _always_ won when they wrestled.

Across the quad, Calum saw Luke Hemmings staring at them but decided not to tell Michael, who would undoubtedly go off on a tirade again. Calum had no idea why Michael hated Hemmings so violently, but he had since the beginning of year nine and they’d been grouped up for a project that Michael had deliberately failed, apparently in protest of Hemmings' existence. Calum kind of wanted to befriend Hemmings--he was generally by himself, and he was always tapping his fingers like he was practicing chord progressions or remembering a drumbeat. He kind of reminded Calum of Michael, to be honest, in less of a mischievous way.

When the bell rang for them to go to Choir, Calum got up and handed the empty chip packet to Michael.

Michael shook the bag, threw it at Calum’s head, and scooped up his school things with a huff. Calum just cackled and caught the packet, then grabbed his own book bag and followed Michael to class.

==

Hemmings sat next to Calum in Choir. Their teacher was a stickler for alphabetical seating, so Hemmings was next to Hood, and Clifford got stuck in the front row, in between Dietrich and Bergthorson.

Michael kept getting yelled at for turning around and making stupid faces at Calum. Beside him, Luke kept having to cover sniggers as Michael got dressed down by the teacher. Calum was torn between telling Luke off for laughing at his best friend, or joining him in snickering at Michael’s expressions. He settled for the snickering, a bit dizzy at the gleeful lightness he felt. If anything, Calum’s laughter made Michael’s silly faces showier until the teacher threatened the whole class with extra work for weeks if they didn’t stop.

Finally having gained their attention, the teacher clapped her hands and reminded everyone they were going to be working in groups of four for small a cappella performances. There were five boys in the class, and Calum assumed he’d be working with Luke and Michael, and maybe the Gomez kid who sat at the far end of the row. He was totally prepared to run interference between Michael and Luke, but before he could blink he was already in a group of four with Luke and the two girls who sat immediately behind them.

Michael glared at them the whole class through. Once the bell rang, he latched onto Catherine Pollard and flounced off without another word to Calum. Ordinarily, Calum wouldn’t use flounced to describe any of Michael’s movements, but there really was no other word.

He floundered, a bit unsure of what to do on his own. Michael didn’t get into tiffs often, but when he did, they were sullen and very pointed. Usually Calum didn’t know what set them off, but this one was all too obvious. Michael was pissy about the whole Luke thing, and Calum felt a surge of irrational anger well up in his chest. Michael was his best friend, and he knew it. Luke was nice; it didn’t make any _sense_ why they didn’t get along.

“Have you got maths with Lee next?” Luke asked, breaking Calum’s train of thought.

“Uh, yeah, I have,” Calum said, and packed up his sheet music and notebook.

“We could walk together,” Luke offered shyly. “If you don’t mind stopping by the commons, I left my maths homework with Carly.”

“Thanks, Luke.” Calum followed Luke to get his book and into maths, where he realized he’d forgotten his homework.

For some reason, that pissed him off more than it should’ve, and he mouthed off to the teacher when she asked where it was, earning himself detention.

The rest of the day was equally shit. The whole day felt _wrong_ without Michael. There was no one trying to steal bits of his sandwich at lunch, no one sniggering loudly as he struggled to open the lid on his thermos. Calum gritted his teeth through the loud conversation at the table and figured Michael would probably be back to normal by the time they walked home. He was never mad very long. When it came to Calum, Michael held grudges about as well as a sieve held water, normally.

Calum waited at their usual spot when school ended, but Michael never showed. Ticked off and tired, he set off for home ten minutes late, and spent the long walk sulking.

He got home, weirdly exhausted, and threw himself onto his bed, already working up a proper strop. Before he really could, his mum yelled at him to grab his things for footie practice, they were already late.

Friday was just as bad, walking to and from school alone. He spent the day trying to be positive and generally being annoyed at Michael hanging out with the girls in their year. It wasn’t his fault he was put in a group with Luke Hemmings; it wasn’t his fault that Michael couldn’t handle Calum having other friends.

Michael wasn’t there when Calum started walking home, so he walked home alone again, and assumed Michael wouldn’t be spending the night like he usually did. He flopped onto his bed and considered getting back up to change out of his uniform, but he didn’t actually change until Mali-Koa got home and knocked on his door.

“Heard you’re fighting with the other brother,” she said.

He threw a pillow at her. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mom wants you to help with dinner,” she said, and slammed his door shut.

He slowly got up and changed into sweatpants and an oversized jumper that had dubious origins--it had either belonged to Michael at one point, or maybe Mali-Koa, but it bounced around often enough Calum could never be sure.

He slouched down the stairs and helped lay the table and chop vegetables. Mum watched him carefully, but didn’t ask until dinner was almost ready.

“Is Michael okay?” Joy asked as Calum sulked on the counter, unsure of what to do without Michael there. He couldn’t even remember a Friday night without Michael. “Should we not set a place for him?”

Calum shrugged.

“I’ll call Karen later,” she said. Calum shook his head and stole carrots out of the salad sitting next to him.

“It’s whatever,” he said, and slouched off to fetch Mali-Koa.

It was bizarre, having a Friday night without Michael to play video games with, to pile into bed and listen to Blink and Green Day and watch movies with. He sat through dinner sullenly, ignoring his mum’s worried glances and his father’s confused ones. After, he helped with the dishes and went back up to his room to sulk.

Around midnight, he snuck down and made popcorn in the microwave, and dumped it in a bowl to take up to his room. Mum would yell if she found out, but Calum was just so past caring right now.

“Something up with Mikey?” Mali-Koa called through her open door as he passed by. She was plucking at her guitar strings, probably trying to write another song. Calum shrugged and kept going, his contraband popcorn cradled close to his chest. “Mum know you have that?”

“Have what?” he snarked back, and closed his door before she could continue.

Calum fell asleep with the popcorn bowl on his chest, and woke up to the bowl on the floor and cold popcorn scattered across his sheets and scratching his bare skin where his sleep shirt had ridden up. He scraped as much of it as he could back into the bowl, and padded downstairs in search of breakfast.

“You’re up early,” Mum said. She was sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. Dad was flipping pancakes and whistling. “Sleep well?”

Calum shrugged and sat at the table, folding his legs under him on the chair. He tugged at Mum’s newspaper until she slid the funnies over to him.

This morning felt better than yesterday already, even if it still felt wrong without Michael there. He felt six again, when Saturday morning breakfasts were the highlight of his week, and not just family ritual, like Mum and Dad could fix everything just by being there.

The morning was quiet, Mali still sleeping, only interrupted by the doorbell.

“Cal, could you get that?” Dad said, passing a plate of scrambled eggs to Mum. Calum nodded and unfolded his legs from underneath him, and went to get the door.

When he pushed open the door, someone tackled him in a hug. Calum staggered back, surprised.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Michael said hurriedly, clinging to Calum. His voice was muffled into Calum’s shoulder and the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. Calum relaxed and hugged Michael back, stood in his front doorway in his pyjamas. “Can we not fight?”

“I think it’s up to you,” Cal said, but didn’t let go. “I missed you, Mikey.”

Michael sighed and blinked slowly against Calum’s neck, eyelashes tickling.

“Boys, breakfast!” Calum’s mum yelled, as if it was any Saturday morning and Michael had spent the night before. “Calum, is Mali-Koa up?”

“You coming?” Calum asked, finally pulling back. Michael clung for a second, and followed Cal into the house.

Mali slumped down the stairs, still in her ‘jamas.

“Morning, brother one, brother two,” she said sleepily, and slouched into the kitchen.

==

Michael wasn’t big into footie--other than FIFA, that is--but Calum was bound and determined to make Michael love playing it.

That meant Saturday afternoons, the ones they spent hanging out at Michael's house (except when Michael was grounded from Calum, or Calum had a travel game) were more often than not devoted to kicking a ball around Michael’s backyard.

“You come to my matches,” Calum said in disbelief, when Michael’s technique was still worse than the six year olds whose games he refereed. “How the hell are you this awful?”

“Six years of video games and pizza,” Michael said dryly, and picked up the ball with his hands, making a mad dash towards Calum’s end of the yard to score a goal.

Calum yelped and tore after Michael, tackling him to the ground just as Michael darted between Calum’s jumper and the water bottle they’d set out to mark Calum’s goal. They tumbled a bit, ending with Michael flat on his back and Calum sprawled out on top of him, the ball caught between them.

Michael was laughing, clinging tightly to the ball. Calum tried to tug the ball out of his hands, trying to ignore the way his heart stuttered at the genuine openness and joy on Michael’s face.

“You cheat,” he accused, tugging as Michael refused to let go, still laughing hard enough to flush his face pleasantly red.

It turned into a bit of a wrestling match. Calum might have had the muscle and the weight advantage, but Michael fought dirty whenever possible, roughly evening it out. The match ended when Calum finally managed to pin Michael down.

“Your mum’s going to kill us,” Calum said, trying to catch his breath. They were both breathing hard, Michael’s face flushing dark pink against the usual paleness of his skin. He was gorgeous like this, eyes bright and alert, so, so beautiful.

Calum immediately filed the thought away in the back of his brain in the file clearly labelled DO NOT TOUCH, right next to the file where he stored his late night conversations with Michael, the one labelled MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION.

“Your mum--” Michael started, a smirk growing on his face, causing Calum to duck down and bite his neck in warning.

Michael gasped and knocked his hips up against Calum’s. Calum flinched a little, enough that Michael could get a foothold and push himself out from under Calum.

“Last one in gets last shower,” Michael yelled, rolling to his feet. Calum followed, determined not to make this weird.

 

**==**

**MARCH 2011** - _-Michael and Calum are 15, Luke is 14_

 ==

 

It took two weeks for Calum to bring up Luke Hemmings again. They were in the mall food court on a Saturday afternoon, Michael sullenly picking the pickle slices off of his burger.

"So I wrote a song," Calum said, pointedly stealing Michael's chips. Michael let him, because he was nice like that. Well that, and he was already planning on stealing someone of Calum’s milkshake, so it wasn’t much use protesting.

"Dude. About Carly?"

Calum flushed, and Michael smirked. Definitely about Carly, then.

"Just about love. It's not very good."

"You wrote it, Cal, it's probably the worst thing ever." Michael took a long slurp of soda and burped, then sobered at Calum's expression.

"I'm sure it's great, Cal. She'll love it."

"I'm not as good at guitar as you are," Calum said. He took Michael's pickles, putting them on his own burger. "And no offense, but I'd like input from someone I haven't known forever."

"Who're you going to ask, Hemmings?" Michael nearly toppled over backwards when Calum gave a helpless little shrug. When Michael managed to right himself, he spluttered "Hemmings? Fucking _Hemmings_?"

"You've seen him in Choir, he's actually not awful." Calum hit Michael with his biggest and best puppy dog eyes. "Come on, Mikey, I don't get why you hate him. He's _nice_."

"He's got awful hair and a smug little ferret face," Michael said sullenly, pouting deeply. Combined with his fringe and band t-shirt, he looked like a sad drowned puppy, and Calum felt guilty. Not guilty enough to apologize, though. "He's going to steal your guitar and make Carly cheat on you with him."

"One, you have the exact same haircut,” Calum pointed out, and got a fry to the face. “What the hell? Two, not dating Carly, and three, he’s got his own guitar, and it’s better than mine, I’m like a hundred percent sure.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He likes Green Day,” Calum said, as if that would bait Michael into liking Hemmings. “And All Time Low. He’s _cool_ , Mikey, I swear.”

“I bet he’s awful,” Michael said, and slouched deeper into his chair. He looked ridiculous, long fringe and deep pout. Calum kicked him under the table. “I bet he doesn’t know _any_ of the right lyrics.”

“Well, you can ask him when he comes over to my house tomorrow.”

Michael sat up and stole Calum’s milkshake, clutching it to his chest possessively. “You didn’t.”

“It’s my house!” Calum kicked Michael again. “Come _on_ , Mike. Why do you hate him, anyways?”

“I just don’t like him, is all.”

Calum raised an eyebrow and stared Michael down. “Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t like him! Do I need a reason?”

Calum kept staring at Michael. “You have to try,” he insisted. “I want you to be friends.”

“I don’t want to be friends with _Hemmings_ ,” Michael said, crossing his arms. “It’s _Hemmings_.” Calum kicked him again.

“You’ll get along great,” Calum wheedled. “And if he really does suck, I’ll--I’ll--I’ll get you hair dye and tell your mum it was my idea.”

“Fine, we'll work with Hemmings," Michael grumbled, realizing that Calum wasn’t going to give in. When Calum dug his heels in, there was no convincing him otherwise. "But if he shits on you, I'm punching his smug little face into next year.”

“You’ll try to be friends?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Promise_ me you’ll try?”

Michael sulked. “I don’t know why you’re so insistent. Is he your _boyfriend_ , Calum? Did you want to tell me something?”

“ _Promise_ , Mikey?” Calum repeated, undeterred.

“Promise,” Michael said, sighing. “It’s going to be awful.”

“No, it won’t,” Calum said, cheerful now that he’d gotten his way. “It’s going to be great.”

==

Michael spent the night at Calum’s Friday night, like always. As such, he was at Calum’s house, still in his pyjamas, when Luke rang the doorbell.

Michael sank deeper into the couch cushions while Calum raced to get the door before Mali-Koa did. He could hear the Hood siblings bickering in the entryway and Hemmings’ laugh. He scowled--Calum was _his_ friend, Hemmings couldn’t have him. When Mali-Koa thumped upstairs, he flopped back down, knowing Calum and Hemmings would be coming back down the hallway. Sure enough, it wasn’t more than a minute before they appeared in the doorway.

"Luke, Mikey. You're both friends with me, so you should be friends with each other." Calum grinned at the both of them. Luke had his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders hunched a little. He smiled shyly up from behind his fringe, but Michael just stared at Luke from the couch, completely unimpressed.

“Hi,” Luke said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and pushed his fringe out of his eyes.

“Hey,” Michael said grudgingly, when Calum glared at him in warning.

“So I thought we could play FIFA and maybe go swimming later,” Calum said, attempting to ignore the awkward. “Or, like, anything on the Xbox.”

Luke nodded, shifting again. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and blinked, long and slow. “Sounds good to me.”

Michael just grunted and scrambled for the controller on the floor next to his head.

“Move your fat ass,” Calum said to him, since he was taking up practically the whole couch.

“No, I’m comfy,” Michael replied, stretching out to take up even more of the sofa. Calum rolled his eyes and sat on Michael’s stomach, waving his hand at the room in general. “You can sit wherever, it’s whatever.”

Luke sat on the squishy beanbag Mali usually inhabited for movie nights. Crushed beneath Calum, Michael wheezed.

"So, FIFA or, like, Halo?" Calum asked. Michael groaned and pinched Calum's thigh. Luke snorted when Calum batted Michael’s hand away and stole the controller from him, booting the Xbox back to main menu.

"FIFA's like, the best game ever," he said quietly, curling his knees up to his chest. "I always play Arsenal."

Calum pointed the controller at Luke. "Take that back."

"What?"

"You come into my house and support Arsenal? Get the fuck out."

"We support Chelsea, and Barcelona," Michael managed, and choked when Calum elbowed him.

Luke looked confused at Michael's input, but grinned a second later. "Bet you I can beat you with Arsenal."

Calum narrowed his eyes. "You're on." He grumbled as he closed out his and Michael's game and started to organize a new match. Michael would have laughed if he could breathe deeply enough to do so.

Calum chucked the controller he’d been using earlier at Luke and got to setting up his team and controls the way he liked, drawing Luke into conversation the whole way. Michael made snarky comments about player choice and tried to tickle Calum’s sides. Luke watched them warily and fired his own snarky comments back with a half-grin on his face.

“Actually, wait a sec, I’m going to get snacks,” Calum said as the loading screen appeared. He stretched and got off of Michael. Immediately, Michael sat up and folded his legs underneath him, probably to keep Calum from sitting on him again. “You both like All Time Low, and Blink-182. Talk about music, or something. Don’t you _dare_ start without me.”

Calum left, hearing quiet voices in the living room. Michael got shouty when he was antagonizing people, so the quiet was good. Calum hoped. He made a couple of bags of popcorn and dumped it into a big bowl, and hurried back to the living room.

"I put a cover on YouTube," Luke was saying shyly. Calum shifted the bowl of popcorn to one hand, a little nervously. "Jersey."

Michael folded his arms across his chest, glancing at Calum as if to say _see? I’m playing nice_. "Acoustic?"

Luke nodded, shrugged. “I’ve got a few others, too. I’m working on a Pete Murray one.”

Michael raised an eyebrow and stared Luke down. “You’re not as bad as I thought,” he admitted, and uncrossed his arms. “FIFA?”

“What?”

“We can be friends if you can beat me in FIFA.”

Calum rolled his eyes as Luke nodded solemnly and held out his hand to shake Michael’s. “May the best man win.”

Michael took one look at Luke’s extended hand, spat onto his own palm and shook Luke’s. Luke didn’t even blink, just kept staring Michael down.

“Oh, eww,” Calum groaned, but Luke and Michael were heading for the couch, having apparently decided to use the already set-up game to settle their argument.

Michael won the match 1-0, but Luke and Michael were bickering animatedly over who would get Calum on their team for the next round, having apparently forgotten that Michael’s victory meant they _wouldn’t_ be friends.

Calum smiled and challenged both of them, two versus one. Michael and Luke exchanged looks and scrambled for their controllers.

As they played, Calum smirked to himself--mission accomplished. At the end of the afternoon, they had plans to hang out after school and a promise to swap playlists the next time they saw each other. There was even a vague plan to form a band, if they could filch drums of some sort from the music room.

"See, I promised he wouldn't be awful," Calum said, bumping his shoulder against Michael's.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Michael grumbled, but he was smiling. "Stop fucking smiling, asshole."

"Language," Mali sang as she breezed past them into the kitchen.

"Piss off," Michael and Calum replied in unison, and bolted for Calum’s room when Mali-Koa turned to shout at them.

==

Calum didn’t force Michael and Luke to be best friends right off the bat. He eased them into friendship, constantly pulling them into groups to work together

Luke was fairly docile, Michael noticed. He went where Calum pulled him, was willing to do stupid shit to impress either of them. When Calum suggested hanging out, Luke agreed, and followed Michael and Calum home, immersed in something on his phone.

Calum shouted into the empty house--his parents were at work and Mali-Koa was out doing something, whatever she did when she wasn’t at home--so it was more to hear the emptiness bounce back.

“No one’s home,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we can blast music in my room.”

Michael darted up the stairs, shedding his shoes and uniform jacket as he went. Calum grabbed the jacket and threw it over the bannister, and gestured to Luke, following Calum up the stairs.

In his room, Calum put the new Simple Plan CD in and spun around on his wheelie chair. Michael had found the hacky-sack Calum kept by his bed and was tossing it from hand to hand, sitting cross-legged on Calum’s bed. Luke still had his backpack on his shoulder and was standing awkwardly.

“You can sit, like, literally anywhere,” Calum said, standing and heading towards his closet. Sweats and a t-shirt sounded really nice right now. He hated full-uniform days, the tie was the absolute _worst_. “I can grab Mali’s desk chair, probably, if you want to sit.” He dug through a drawer and fished out a pair of navy sweats and a ratty t-shirt. “Mikey, you want clean clothes?”

Michael made a noncommittal noise. He’d taken off his tie and otherwise looked comfortable. “Sure.”

“Luke?”

Luke shook his head. His tie was still done up all the way. “I’m fine.”

“Your loss.” Calum threw some of Michael’s clothes at him, leftover from some sleepover or something. Calum ducked into the bathroom to change, but Michael was a little more shameless, considering he was changed when Calum got back. Judging by the flush staining Luke’s cheeks, Michael had probably stripped off without warning.

Luke settled on Calum’s beanbag, managing to sit a little primly. “What’re we doing?”

“I was going to tackle my English essay. Mikey’s probably playing Lego Star Wars for the eight millionth time--”

“--it’s a good game!” Michael protested.

“--no, it’s really, really not. You can do whatever, Luke, we’re just hanging out.”

Luke offered Calum a quiet, shy smile. “I’ll probably do maths.”

Michael groaned, digging his game out of his book bag. “Ew, no, maths.”

“My mum’s a maths teacher,” Luke said, shrugging. “I like it.”

“Clearly evidence that you don’t have a soul,” Michael said suspiciously. Calum smacked him upside the head. “Ow!”

They settled in with their respective projects. Calum kept looking up from his essay to crack bad jokes; Michael swore loudly as he encountered enemies, and Luke giggled, contributing to the easy conversation. When there was a lull, Luke sang along absently as he worked through his worksheet; so did Michael, who Calum had put the CD in for. Calum didn’t think much of it until Michael and Luke hit a truly excellent harmony.

Calum dropped his pen as his two friends stared at each other in shock.

“That was awesome,” he declared. The CD spun on, Pierre Bouvier’s voice singing about missing a summer lover.

“I’ve always wanted to be in a band,” Luke admitted after a beat, looking down at his maths homework and smoothing out the edges of his paper. Michael was playing semi-viciously, jabbing at the keys. “No one’s ever wanted to, though.”

“Being in a band would be awesome,” Calum said, stretching. “Mikey and I both play guitar.”

“Me too,” Luke admitted. “Think you knew that, though.” Michael finally closed his game, looking up and offering Luke the first genuine smile Luke had seen from him so far.

“Cal and I talked about bands, but you can’t do much with two people.”

“We should be a band,” Calum said definitively. “This is a thing. We’re a band now.”

Luke’s smile was bigger now. “We’re a band now,” he echoed. When he returned to his maths homework, he was outright beaming.

==

_We need a band name._

Calum blinked at his mobile, trying to figure out why _Lotsa Titts_ was texting him about band names. He was in the middle of maths homework, and hadn’t been expecting any messages.

He opened his contacts and texted Michael.

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_did you change Luke’s name to Lotsa Titts in my contacts??_

Michael texted back almost immediately, which meant he was either procrastinating on homework or had been waiting for this text. Knowing Michael, it was probably a combination of both.

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_No…_

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_Mikey!_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_Fine, yes. I almost did Ben Dover, but that was too unoriginal. Or Ima Dick._

Calum started to snigger, and officially gave up on doing his maths homework until this conversation was over with.

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_One, yes, you are a dick. Two, what, was Dick Fuchs too classy for you?_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_I could’ve gone with Anita Man, Calum._

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_I could’ve picked Luke as my best friend, Mikey._

Calum could imagine the put out expression on Mikey’s face, the pout and the wrinkled nose, and rocked back on two legs of his chair, sniggering.

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_Low blow, man. Low blow._

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_what did he want?_

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_he wants to figure out a band name_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_we should be dick fuchs_

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_we are so not being in a band named DICK FUCHS_

Calum changed Luke’s contact name from Lotsa Titts to Hemmo, and waited for Michael’s reply.

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_aww but it would be amazing_

The texts that bounced back and forth between the three of them over the next few days ranged between borderline bizarre and downright obnoxious. They all proposed band names (Michael chipped in names like Bromance and bad puns, but continued campaigning for Dick Fuchs as an actual name; Calum contributed pop culture and footie references; Luke mostly vetoed and tried to work a song lyric into their band name, in the vein of All Time Low) and argued over what would or wouldn’t work.

They spent their lunch breaks outside, bickering with each other over names. The weather began to cool down, enough that they were chased inside a few times. It never got truly cold in Sydney, but the weather definitely had the potential to become unpleasant. Michael started to bitch about it--he might not go outside all the time, he argued, but at least he picked up a _little_ colour when it was warm out, rather than being the palest of the pale.

(“I think I’m tanning!”

“Michael, that’s a shadow, you’re still sitting under the tree.”

“Shut up Luke, you’re as pale as I am.”)

School began to pick up momentum, causing them to cancel a few budding band practices until they figured out a schedule that worked; Calum missed two practices for footie until Michael finally put a permanent veto on Tuesday-Thursday band practices. The end of first term was coming up, and Michael spent hours bitching about exams and his particular loathing of maths. The band name debate was dropped in favour of a raging argument over which subject was worse to sit exams for. Luke unsuccessfully tried to mediate.

(“Luke, stop texting and tell Mikey that he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’m not getting involved.”

“Luke, tell Calum that _he’s_ being ridiculous.”

“Calum, your husband claims you’re being ridiculous.”

“Not my husband--” “Ha! See, he likes _me_ more!”

“I hate you both equally.”)

Michael got technically grounded for bleaching his hair without permission again, but his parents never took away his mobile, mainly because he was home alone so much. The week Michael wasn't allowed to hang out, Luke and Calum were tried to have band practice on their own. It wasn’t working so well, if Calum was honest--they were spending more time texting Mikey and playing with Luke’s dog Molly than actually practising anything. Michael was bitching--as was his norm recently--and Luke was giggling over Michael’s increasingly incensed texts over absolutely nothing.

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_why is the weather getting cold again this SUCKS_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_why the hell does it only feel like there’s only like five seconds of summer left all the time_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_it’s like the seasons want to make us suffer_

Luke looked at Calum with wide eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” Calum asked, already typing back a message back to Michael.

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_because TIME and the UNIVERSE, that’s why_

“Band name.”

“Band name?” Calum flicked back to Michael’s text. “ _All the time_? That’s a bit close to All Time Low, isn’t it?”

“No, _five seconds of summer_.” Luke was practically vibrating with excitement. “That totally works as a name, right?”

Calum tried the name, saying it out loud twice. It felt like a good name. Better than Bromance, or Ima Dick at least.

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_dude you might have found the band name_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_wait seriously???_

To: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_Luke thinks you have sooo_

From: Cuzmuffin Mikey

_5 seconds of summer?_

Luke kept trying to take Calum’s phone to text Michael back, and they ended up outright calling him.

“Band name?” Michael said, when he finally picked up the phone.

“5 Seconds of Summer,” Luke shrieked, holding Molly close. She made a whuffling noise and then barked. “See, even Molly agrees.”

“Molly agrees with anyone who scratches her ears,” Michael said dryly. “But sure, why not. 5 Seconds of Summer. If this turns into a thing, we can think of a better name.”

“It’s a good enough name,” Luke said, and flopped onto his back. “Right, Calum?”

“I like it,” Calum said, and reached over to pet Molly. “So when are you un-grounded, Mikey?”

“Friday,” Michael said, and there was a flumph noise, sort of like Michael had flopped onto his bed. “Two more days.”

“So you get out right in time for break?”

“Yeah. I think Mum and Dad grounded me so I’d _have_ to revise for exams.”

Term ended and the first few days of break were spent at Michael’s house, messing around with covers and practicing with a renewed determination, now that they had a proper name. Friday night sleepovers were still Michael and Calum only (once Michael finally got un-grounded), but Luke had begun to hang out with them on Saturdays and over the days they had no school.

 

**==**

**APRIL 2011** \--Michael and Calum are 15, Luke is 14

==

 

Luke finally let them see his YouTube channel (not that Michael and Calum hadn’t found it before anyways, but it was thought that counted) and Michael tried to correct Luke’s technique on guitar (“this is why you keep breaking picks, dude”). They messed around with the drums they’d filched from the music room at school. Calum and Michael had distracted the teacher and Luke had smuggled them out in his backpack--surprisingly enough, it had worked--and now it seemed Michael had the best sense of rhythm in their little trio.

Before he left for home late that afternoon, Luke gave Calum a slip of paper, clearly torn out of his maths notebook.

“That’s the password,” he said nervously, eyes darting to Michael. “Don’t--”

“I won’t let Mikey do anything awful,” Calum promised, pocketing the paper. Michael yelped in protest--he was awfully fond of Luke now, perhaps because Luke was always up for a cuddle and would scratch Michael’s head if he asked--but was silenced with a stern look from Calum. “We’ll make a video introducing 5 Seconds of Summer, while you’re off gallivanting in Queensland.”

“One, that is totally not a word. Two, it’s just visiting my aunt,” Luke protested, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “We might go to the beach, maybe, but!”

“You’re still going somewhere.” Michael was still in his pyjamas, ragged sweatpants splattered with paint--Calum thought it was probably from some art project over the past year or so--and a shirt that had once been Calum’s, judging by the HOOD emblazoned across the back. “Cal and I are stuck here.”

“I thought you were going to see your grandma,” Calum said, distracted from the video conversation.

“Nah, only mum’s going. Grandma thinks I’m ‘too rowdy’ to deal with for a week,” Michael said, sullenly making air quotes. “So I’m probably going to spend break bugging Cal and learning Boulevard of Broken Dreams on guitar.”

Calum leaned over to steal Michael’s phone. “I’ll be hanging out with this asshole,” he said, flicking through Michael’s texts. Michael made a vague noise of protest but didn’t move to reclaim his phone. “I think we’re going to have a TF2 marathon or something.”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Michael said, and caught his phone when Calum threw it back at him.

Calum stuck his tongue out and turned his attention back to Luke. “So, yeah. Boring stuff. I think Mali-Koa’s taking us to the beach at some point.”

Luke nodded, and darted in for a hug when his mum honked in the driveway before bolting out the door.

It took a few days for Calum and Michael to figure out what they wanted to say in the video. They decided to break the tension with some god awful dancing--Michael cringed on the rewatch but Calum wouldn’t let him cut it--and neatly summarized up the necessary information. They filmed it in Michael's room and Calum struggled to upload it after.

When they managed to get it posted, Luke texted.

From: Hemmo

_nice vid. blink cover next?_

To: Hemmo

_sure, but which blink?_

From: Hemmo

_the rock show_

To: Hemmo

_mikey says he’ll break his fingers trying to play that. feeling this?_

From: Hemmo

_i don’t know all the words to that one_

To: Hemmo

_well learn them, idiot. they’re not hard_

From: Hemmo

_what about i miss you?_

To: Hemmo

_i think i learned that one from mali_

From: Hemmo

_so you know it?_

“ _I Miss You_?” Calum said out loud. Michael blinked.

“I’m right here, and I don’t think Luke can hear you, dude.”

“No, I mean--Luke suggested Blink’s _I Miss You_ for our cover. You okay with it?”

“I’m just playing bongos, Cal, you’re the ones learning the guitar parts.” Michael yawned and grabbed one of Calum’s pillows. He curled up, poking his toes under Calum’s thigh. “Are we going to start the movie or not?”

“Let me finish texting Luke and I will.”

Michael stuck his tongue out and minimized the movie window, opening up his Facebook and tapping something out while Calum returned his attention to his phone.

To: Hemmo

_mostly. mikey says he’s cool with it._

From: Hemmo

_well of course we bow to the will of king michael_

From: Hemmo

_i’ll look up the chords later, mum’s calling..we can practice when i get back_

To: Hemmo

_ok, i miss you it is_

Calum tossed his phone onto the bedside table and shoved Michael's feet over, wedging himself in as close to Michael as he could. Michael put the computer half on each of their laps.

“Ready?”

“Just start the movie,” Michael groaned, but he was fighting a fond smile. He rested his head on Calum’s shoulder. Calum rolled his eyes and hit play.

==

Calum was concentrating on his guitar and notebook hard enough that he didn’t notice Mali lingering in the doorway.

“Learning a new song?” she asked. Calum jumped about six feet in the air, jolted out of his focus.

“Trying to write one,” Calum said, once he’d gotten over his shock.

“Let me see?”

Calum snatched up the paper and held it to his chest. “No! You’ll make fun!”

“Won’t, I promise,” Mali-Koa said, and held out her pinkie finger. “Pinkie promise.”

Calum eyed her suspiciously and linked his pinkie with hers when she crossed the room. She gently tugged the paper out of his grasp and skimmed over the notations.

“Your chords are pretty good,” she said, surprised. “But your rhyming could use some work, maybe.” She rotated the sheet and cocked her head, reading over Calum’s notes along the margins. “And your spelling.”

Calum flushed. “See, you’re making fun!”

“Am not!” she insisted, and held the paper out of his reach. “Want me to help?”

“Not if you’re going to make fun.”

“I’m not!” she sighed and smoothed out the paper. “Try slant rhyme, rather than direct rhyme.”

“...slant rhyme?”

Mali tapped the paper and showed him what she meant; they spent the afternoon improving Calum’s song until Mali stopped picking at it and Calum was a little flushed with pride.

"You'll get good at that if you practice," Mali said, and left to help their dad find his mobile. Calum flushed with pride and kept picking at the song, smoothing it out a little more.

Maybe he'd show it to Luke, later. Michael usually laughed at mushy love songs, and his was heading in that direction, being all gooey about a girl. Except Luke would tell Mikey, and then Mikey would sulk that Calum hadn't shown him the song first. Maybe Calum wouldn't show anyone. It wasn't such a good song anyways, even with Mali-Koa’s help.

He packed up his guitar and tucked the song underneath, carefully folded into quarters. Luke wouldn't be back for a couple of days, anyways.

When Luke did come back, he started to spend a lot of time with Luke and Michael. They had a week left of holidays. Luke was avoiding his brothers at the moment and Michael was still pretty territorial over his house, which meant Luke and Michael spent a lot of time at Calum's house.

Michael's hackles went up when Calum suggested a sleepover, so Calum nixed that idea, but he was getting pretty tired of Michael provoking Luke.

Sometimes Calum got these weirdly smug expressions, and they always made Michael super-nervous and uncomfortable. Luke hadn’t keyed in to Calum’s devious plans yet, but Michael definitely did when Calum started pointedly asking point blank opinion questions and gloating when Luke and Michael had similar answers.

By the third day, when Calum had run through almost every conceivable topic, Luke was amused, Michael was horrified, and Calum was smug.

“Favourite All Time Low song.” Calum’s smirk was just begging for Michael to punch him. Michael just sighed and answered instead.

“ _Weightless_ , obviously,” Michael said at the same time that Luke chipped in with “I really like _Weightless_.”

Michael stopped in his tracks and stared at Luke. He very pointedly didn’t look at Calum, knowing full well Calum probably had the world’s biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t say it,” Michael said, looking up to the sky. “Don’t even think about it, Calum.”

“You should be good friends,” Calum sing-songed, slinging his arms around each of their shoulders and pulling them closer together. “Be better friends for me, Mikey, Lukey?”

Luke laughed and Michael rolled his eyes, and the conversation moved on. Michael was still a little unnerved at Luke having similar opinions to him, at the fact that maybe he _didn’t_ hate Luke.

 

**==**

**MAY 2011** \--Michael & Calum are 15, Luke is 14

==

 

April blurred into May. They spent hours in Luke's room, practicing the chord progressions for _I Miss You_ and a ridiculous amount of time watching music videos on YouTube and arguing about who was better, Blink 182, Fall Out Boy, or Green Day.

Luke, they discovered, had a wickedly sharp sense of humor and was more prone to sarcasm than they’d expected. He and Calum were quickly close, but Michael was a little more hesitant. It took three months of friendship for Michael to agree to a sleepover with Luke at Calum’s; it took three months for Michael to let his guard down enough to be comfortable with Luke seeing him at his most vulnerable.

They didn’t do much, that evening; they watched a movie and spread out in Calum’s room in sleeping bags and tangled up in blankets. Michael was the first to drift off, having been sleepy the whole evening. Calum and Luke talked and played vidya until Calum’s mum came by to tell them off for being too loud, and then they talked in hushed voices until Luke was blinking long and slow, tired.

“I’m really glad you made Michael not hate me,” Luke said softly, when the lights were out and Michael was still enough to be sound asleep. “I’ve never had best friends before.”

Before Calum could reply, there was a rustling noise and an _oof_ from Luke. Michael had gotten up and sprawled out on top of Luke, clinging tightly.

“Sorry for hating you,” came Michael’s voice, small and a little mumbly. Calum could barely distinguish who was who in the pile of blankets and limbs that was now Luke and Michael, but he wiggled a bit closer in his sleeping bag.

“You’re my friend now,” Luke said bluntly. “So it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“Still,” Michael said, gently, and reached out for Calum. “Get over here, Cal, we’re having a cuddle pile.”

Calum grinned and bounded over to pile on top of them. Luke made a groan of protest, being crushed beneath both of them, but he didn’t complain otherwise.

Michael, Luke soon learned, was almost aggressive as a friend. Once he’d decided he liked Luke, he was as protective and possessive over Luke as he was over Calum.

Calum sat back and snickered as Michael bullied one of the girls behind them in English into switching desks with Luke so the three of them could sit together. In any group work they had, Luke was suddenly partnered up with Calum or Michael or both. Luke accepted this with a genial sort of confusion--Michael’s personality had, after all, almost undergone a complete 180 in regards to him. He was especially confused when Michael still made fun of him but went after anyone else who made fun of Luke with a vengeance.

Calum, who’d been subject to Michael’s particular brand of friendship for years now, only laughed when Luke expressed this confusion. Michael had wandered off, probably to get into a spat with a group of girls who’d laughed at Luke earlier.

“Mikey doesn’t make friends easily,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder to confirm that Michael wasn’t right behind him, listening. “He’s not anti-social, but he’s not a big fan of people, really. So, like, when he likes you, he’s super-protective, ‘cos he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“Like with you.”

“And with you,” Calum retorted. “Mikey’s like a sea-urchin. He’s prickly until he’s comfortable with you, then he’s just a squishy ball of goo.”

Michael showed up then, looking put out. “Cal, can I punch someone?”

“No,” Luke said automatically, at the same time that Calum said “No, you can’t punch anyone, you’d break your arm.”

“No I wouldn’t,” Michael squawked, and slumped into his seat between Calum and Luke. Luke patted Michael’s back in sympathy. “Braxton’s not solid enough to break my arm.”

“You’re not punching Braxton,” Calum said tiredly, and pushed Michael’s lunch towards him. “Eat your sandwich, Mikey.”

Michael sulked. Calum petted at Michael’s head, and Luke stifled his giggles into his drink.

 

**==**

**JUNE 2011** \--Michael & Calum are 15, Luke is 14

==

 

May became June, and they finally filmed and posted the Blink cover. Michael was quietly nervous the night they posted it. He texted Calum incessantly, worrying over the whole thing.

It went over well enough, according to Luke, and they started debating over what they should cover next.

The next two months were a blur of classes and friendly bickering. The weather cooled enough that it became rare to see Michael without a thick jacket and Calum made endless jokes about Michael preparing for hibernation.

Luke’s fifteenth birthday fell in the middle of July during the half-term break, when the weather was as cool as it was going to get in Sydney and Luke started wearing a stupid penguin hat all the time. Michael mocked him endlessly for it, despite the fact that he owned--and wore--an equally embarrassing Pikachu hat.

Luke didn’t care, just burrowed deeper into his hat and radiated quiet smugness that he’d managed to gain Michael’s approval as a friend.

Michael and Calum got together the day before Luke’s birthday, and, with Michael’s mum’s help, made cupcakes for Luke. Somehow, the two of them ended up covered in flour despite Karen’s best efforts. Calum had egg yolk in his hair, somehow, and Michael had a smear of chocolate on his cheekbone that Calum was very pointedly not telling him about.

“Who’s this you’re making cupcakes for?” Karen asked, when she was overseeing them doing the washing up. Calum was actually scrubbing the bowls. Michael was half-heartedly patting at the whisks and spoons with a drying towel.

“Luke’s birthday,” Michael said. He prodded a bowl they’d used to melt butter as if it was going to bite him. “He’s turning fifteen.”

“Have I met him?”

“Maybe?” Calum set the big mixing bowl on Michael’s drying rack and wished he’d thought to get the egg yolk out of his hair before it dried. “He’s slept over at my house.”

“I’m assuming Joy’s met him, then. You’ve never made cupcakes for anyone’s birthday before.”

“I made ice cream cake for Calum’s!” Michael protested. He set the now mostly-dry butter bowl down and started patting at the mixing bowl. Calum rolled his eyes.

“It was half-melted,” he said. “Mum liked Luke, Mrs Clifford.”

“It’s Karen, Calum. I’m sure I’ll like Luke too, then. What’s his surname?”

“Hemmings,” Michael volunteered, and dropped both the dishcloth and the bowl when the oven timer beeped. He bounded over to the oven and only burned himself a little pulling the cupcakes out of the oven. Calum snickered when Michael yelped in pain and when Karen clucked over Michael’s hand.

“Hemmings, hm?” Michael’s mum said, when the kitchen was tidied and the cupcakes were cooling. Michael had found premade frosting in a horrifying shade of electric green at the store, and was struggling to open the container with one hand. “I’ll look up his parents in the school directory.”

“Don’t, Mum,” Michael groaned, but she ignored him.

“Is he the one you two started a band with?”

“Mum--”

“I just want to know who my boys are spending time with!” she said, and looked away when her phone chimed. “Oh, drat. You two be good, I’ve got to go. Pizza’s in the freezer for dinner, don’t burn down the kitchen frosting your cupcakes.”

“When--”

“I’ll be back late, don’t wait up, and your father will be back sometime tomorrow, Michael, be good!”

“Yes, Mum,” Michael said, but she was already out of the kitchen. Calum snickered into the cupcake he was eating.

“Can I spend the night and borrow clothes in the morning?” Calum asked. Michael shrugged.

They brought the cupcakes to Luke’s house the next day, and hid them inside Calum’s guitar case until band practice was over. They completely blindsided him at the end of practice, sitting on the floor of Luke’s room.

Luke was beaming and bouncing in place when Michael dug a candle and a lighter out of his bag. He grinned immensely throughout Michael and Calum’s rendition of Happy Birthday, and blew out his candle with more enthusiasm than one candle really required.

“What’d you wish for?” Calum asked, when Luke was tearing into the cupcake hungrily. Calum was picking the frosting off of his and dumping it onto Michael’s cupcake; Michael had turned his into a kind of cupcake sandwich. Calum chose not to look too closely.

“Another year with friends like you,” Luke said, honestly. Calum blinked, thrown for a second by Luke’s particular brand of bluntness. “I haven’t ever had anyone but my mum make a fuss on my birthday.”

“This isn’t really a fuss,” Michael protested. He had frosting on his nose again. Calum resolved not to tell him. “It’s _cake_.”

“No one’s brought me cake for my birthday before,” Luke reiterated, and kept eating. He didn’t point out the frosting on Michael’s nose either, though he definitely saw it. “Thanks.”

Luke was almost unbearably beamy and smug the rest of the day, so Michael stole his stupid penguin hat and wore it like a trophy. Even that just made Luke grin dopily at Michael and Calum.

Michael just grumbled and claimed the best chair when they settled down to watch a movie, even though he was really smiling, the bastard. Calum decided to flop on top of him. Luke wasn’t far behind.

==

It was only a little surprising when Mali-Koa brought a girl home in late July. She’d been hinting for a while that she might, but for the first hour or so Calum was under the impression that the girl was just a normal friend. He thought so until he heard his mom drop the laundry basket she was carrying down the hall and scold Mali for keeping her door shut when she had a significant other over.

Michael looked at Calum in confusion. “Mali’s got a girlfriend?”

“I guess?” Calum said, and followed Michael downstairs for dinner.

Mali-Koa didn’t even look sheepish when she and her girlfriend came downstairs to sit at the table; she and the girl sat opposite him and Michael. They kept to their separate conversations until Mali realized there were no glasses on the table and bickered with Calum over who was going to get them until Calum caved.

He wandered down the hall to the kitchen and stopped short, hearing his parents bickering quietly in the kitchen.

“She’s twenty! This is a phase!”

“ _You_ of all people should know this isn’t a phase. Mali’s always known her mind.” His mum was always cool and collected, even in the middle of an argument, even as Calum’s heart sped up at his dad’s possible disapproval. Calum leaned against the wall and held his breath, listening.

“But a _girl--_ ”

“If she brought the girl home, she’s serious. Giselle will be welcome in our house.”

“I don’t--how do I even _treat_ her--”

“The same way you treat Michael, dear.” His mum sighed, and the sound of her spoon clinking against the pot stopped. “It’s not so much different.”

“How isn’t it different? It seems incredibly different to me.” Calum cocked his head, sorting through that concept as well. How did Giselle, Mali-Koa’s _girlfriend_ , equal the same as Michael, his _best friend_?

“You’ll see in a few years,” his mum said, sounding like she was smiling. “Just treat her like you treated any of Mali-Koa’s boyfriends in the past, and if you can’t do that, like you’d treat one of Calum’s girlfriends.”

Calum retreated back down the hallway. “I forgot what I was going to get,” he announced to the table. Michael and Mali rolled their eyes in sync. Mali’s girlfriend smiled nervously.

“Cups,” Michael said fondly. He kicked back from the table, his chair screeching obnoxiously. “I’ll help, you dork.”

Michael was loud enough to warn Calum’s parents that they were coming, so when they entered the kitchen the Hoods were discussing if they’d made enough. Calum got pressed into service carrying serving dishes while Michael balanced six glasses and tried not to trip.

“This is my girlfriend, Giselle,” Mali said when everyone was seated at the table. Calum didn’t really pay attention to anyone’s reactions, helping his mum dish out plates and making silly faces at Michael.

“Cool. Girl on girl is hot,” Michael said.

Two things happened--Calum punched Michael in the arm as he dropped into his seat and Mali kicked Michael under the table. A beat later, Joy raised her eyebrows disapprovingly and Michael slid lower in his seat.

“That’s my _sister_ ,” Calum hissed. Mali just raised an eyebrow, daring Michael to say anything else. Michael very wisely shut his mouth and pushed the water pitcher across the table to Calum’s dad.

Giselle hid a laugh and graciously accepted the plate that Joy passed her.

“Well, welcome,” Calum’s dad said awkwardly.

The first few minutes of dinner were quiet and uncomfortable as they tried to accommodate Mali’s girlfriend. Strangely enough, Michael ended up being the saving grace of the meal—he barrelled into conversation with Mali and Calum, and eventually everyone at the table relaxed enough that the tense atmosphere eased. When Michael and Calum helped clear the table, Joy pulled them aside and instructed them to take their dessert up to Calum’s room so she could talk to Mali-Koa and Giselle.

Michael and Calum took their coffee mugs of ice cream and darted up the stairs. Mali-Koa shot them a pleading glare as they made their escape.

“God, Mali’s girlfriend is a _brick_ ,” Calum groaned as he shut the door behind them. “How could Mali-Koa like anyone that boring?”

Michael sat on Calum’s bed, folding his legs up beneath him. He took a spoonful of ice cream and shrugged. Calum crossed the room to sit with him.

“She’s not awful-awful,” Michael said. “Mali’s got good taste, usually.” He leaned over and pressed play on the CD player next to Calum’s bed. It was old and clunky, but it had decent sound quality and Calum didn’t have to risk getting distracted by his laptop.

“Yeah, but her girlfriend could barely talk at dinner.”

“So she was nervous,” Michael said airily. “Stop worrying.”

“I don’t think my dad’s too happy that Mali-Koa’s got a girlfriend,” Calum said eventually. His ice cream was melting, so he gave it a stir with his spoon to see if that would make it melt faster. “He and mum were talking in the kitchen.”

“Your dad probably doesn’t know how to deal,” Michael said. His ice cream was gone now and he leaned back against the wall, his feet dangling off the side of the bed. “Has Mali-Koa _ever_ brought a date home?”

Calum hummed, trying to remember. “I don’t think so.”

“See, that’s it.”

They fell into soft silence; Calum finished his ice cream and stretched out so his head was in Michael’s lap.

“Mikey?”

“Mm?”

“You don’t have a crush on Mali-Koa, do you?” Calum asked into the quiet of the room.

Michael snorted and shook with laughter. He jolted Calum’s head in his lap, to which Calum made a petulant noise of protest. “No! I definitely, definitely don’t have a crush on your sister.”

“You sure?” Calum wasn’t sure if he believed Michael really didn’t have a crush on Mali, since denying it seemed like something someone who really did have a crush would say.

“She’s practically _my_ sister too,” Michael said through his giggles. “I promise I don’t.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely, completely, totally promise.” Calum settled, accepting Michael’s promise for what it was worth.

Michael sang along softly to the CD—All Time Low, Calum recognized vaguely—until Calum started to talk.

“Thanks for being here,” he said, nudging his head up towards Michael’s hand for scratches behind the ear. “For this—whatever. And for helping making it less awkward, ‘cos none of us could do that but you did.”

“You’re such a sap,” Michael said, voice tinged with fondness. He brushed some of Calum’s fringe off his forehead. “ _Such_ a sap.”

“I’m your sap, though.”

“Yeah.” Michael shifted as he stretched. “I should probably go soon.”

“Stay,” Calum mumbled, too comfortable to let Michael move much. “Borrow one of my uniforms in the morning.”

Michael sighed and reached over to Calum’s bedside table for his phone. “I’ll text my mum.”

“Yay, sleepover.” Calum relaxed, feeling boneless, as Michael tapped out a message. He dozed off and only woke, disoriented, when Michael was gently moving him so they could both lie down.

“Cuddles?” he asked sleepily. Michael hmmed and spooned up behind Calum, holding him tight.

The door opened a crack and his mum peeked in. Calum thought he saw a fond smile on her face before the door shut and he drifted back asleep.

==

Like always, Michael was sat by the side of the field, waiting for Calum to finish practice so they could walk home together. When Calum jogged over, sweaty and tired, Michael was swearing under his breath and jabbing violently at the buttons on his game.

Calum grinned at him. "Awww, you waited for me."

"Shut up," Michael said, stretching out and grinning up at Calum. "Right, what are we waiting for?"

“Carly’s going to walk with us,” Calum said, and Michael’s expression went through a series of changes Calum could barely keep up with. "She's eating dinner with us."

“Okay,” Michael said, and closed his game with a vicious snap. “Let’s go get Carly."

Carly played on the girls' footie team and had long black hair tied up in a long ponytail. Like Calum, she'd stayed after for practice and carried a bag of footie gear along with her book bag.

She greeted Calum with a hug and a kiss in the cheek, and awkwardly waved at Michael, who refused to make eye contact.

Carly tried to engage Michael in conversation on the walk to Calum's house. Michael answered in monosyllabic words and half formed gestures. Michael didn't care much for football and Carly didn't care for videogames or the music Michael liked. Their only common interest was Calum and he couldn't make them like each other. They fell into uncomfortable small talk, Calum forging on and refusing to acknowledge the awkwardness.

Michael walked behind them, burrowing into the jumper he kept in his book bag. Calum walked side by side with Carly, glancing back every few steps only to find Michael glaring daggers at either him or Carly.

“You want to stay for dinner, Mikey?” Calum asked when they reached Michael’s turnoff, looking between his best friend and his girlfriend.

“No, I think I need to help my mum with chores,” Michael said, and turned heel to go. “Bye, Calum."

"What's up with him?" Carly asked once Michael had rounded the corner and was out of earshot. Calum blinked.

"I dunno. He usually eats dinner at mine since his mum's not the best cook. Come on, my house is this way."

Calum’s mum worried over Michael’s absence and disappeared into the kitchen to call Michael’s mum to make sure everything was alright.

Mali teased Calum about bringing a girl home. Carly held his hand under the table, and she sat next to him in maths the next day and kissed him at lunch.

Michael refused to talk to him. Michael refused to acknowledge that Calum even _existed_.

He moved to a different desk for every class they had together, and disappeared to _somewhere_ for lunch, and he wasn’t waiting when footie practice got out.

It was the worst week of Calum’s life.

It wasn’t like any other time Michael had been annoyed with Calum. Generally it only took day or two for Michael to apologize, and during that time, Michael would send Calum little darting glances, waiting for an apology. This time around, Michael seemed to have completely wiped Calum out of his life, to prove a point Calum could only guess at.

Luke still talked to both of them, still sat with one or the other in classes. He mostly hung out with Calum and Carly though, still a bit nervous around Michael in a mood. Michael shot Luke dagger glares when he wasn’t busy ignoring Calum.

“What’s going on with you and Michael?” Luke asked, three days into Michael ignoring Calum. They were at lunch, the two of them at the table they usually shared with Michael under the big oak tree. Carly had disappeared to the ladies’, and Michael was across the courtyard in the sun. He’d burn if he didn’t put his hat on, Calum thought, and viciously wished it would happen.

“He stopped talking to me,” Calum said. He looked down at his own lunch and pushed it away, not hungry. “And term’s ending in a couple of days.”

"I'm sure you'll kiss and make up," Luke said cheerfully, biting into his sandwich. "You're too close to stay mad for too long."

"Mikey holds grudges," Calum reminded Luke. Luke shrugged as if to say _yeah, remember who you're talking to?_ Cal rolled his eyes and carried on. "Or he does until you apologize, and I don't know what to apologize _for_."

“Apologize for everything,” Luke suggested. “Just _everything_. Assume you’ve never done anything right in your life, and you might get somewhere.”

“ _He’s_ the one who’s got a problem with _me_ ,” Calum said. He glanced across the courtyard to where Michael was letting one of the girls in their year play with his hair. Michael batted his eyelashes at the girl, who giggled and whispered something to her friend. Calum looked away. “He should apologize first.”

Luke snorted. “Michael doesn’t apologize; Michael magnanimously forgives you your transgressions against him.”

“Vocab quiz today?”

“That obvious?”

“You used the words _‘magnanimously’_ and _‘transgressions’_ in a complete sentence. Yes, that obvious.” Calum slumped a little and rested his head on Luke’s shoulder. “This sucks. Everything’s awful.”

“I think you mean _‘abhorrent’_.”

“No, I don’t. I mean awful.”

“You’re being very _pusillanimous_ about this how situation with Michael is going.”

“Luke?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“As long as I get good marks on my vocab quiz, I don’t really care.”

“What don’t we care about?” Carly asked, sliding back into her seat at the table.

“I’m practicing my vocab for Estrada’s class,” Luke explained. “Calum wants to murder me.”

Carly groaned. “I’m so going to fail that, I barely even reviewed the list.”

While Carly and Luke collectively mourned their grades in Estrada’s class, Calum absently wondered if the glares of death coming from Michael were getting stronger or if he was just imagining things.

“Hey, Calum, can I talk to you after school?” Carly asked, regaining Calum’s attention. She was picking at the label of her water bottle.

“I’ve got practice,” Calum said. “Don’t you have practice too?”

“Coach is out sick so we’ve got the day off. I assumed you would too?”

“God, I _wish_.”

“Well, maybe we can do it now, quick?” Carly started, but the bell rang and they had to split up to go to classes.

Carly and Calum didn’t get to have their conversation until the next day, when Carly pulled him aside during lunch.

“So what’s up?” Calum asked, confused at why Carly had such a serious expression on. Usually she was flirty and smiling, this was new.

Carly smiled sympathetically at Calum and reached out to pat his shoulder. "I don't think we should date anymore," she said. Calum blinked at her, uncomprehending.  "You could've told me you like someone else," she added solemnly. "It wasn't very fair to me."

"I like someone else," he repeated, entirely nonplussed.

"See, I knew!" Carly beamed, clearly thinking he was agreeing with her. "You totally didn't have to actually date me to do the whole jealousy thing, I so would have pretended, but I've done it too so I can't blame you. I'm glad it worked for you, though!"

"It...worked out for me?"

"Oh yeah," she said, and winked. "Have fun, Calum. We should hang out sometime, in like, a not-dating context. I'll totally pretend to be heartbroken, though.” She gave him a hug and hurried off, leaving Calum mildly shell-shocked and a lot confused.

He wandered back to the table where Luke still sat, ploughing through his sandwich.

“What did Carly want?” Luke asked through a mouthful of mashed up bread and lettuce.

“She broke up with me.” Calum sat down and gaped at his food a little. “Carly broke up with me?”

Luke choked. Calum slid his water bottle across the table at him and waiting for the coughing to subside.

“Maybe that’s why Michael’s upset?” Luke suggested, when he managed to breathe again. “Dating Carly?”

“No shit,” Calum said, when he figured out Luke’s subject change. “I don’t judge him for who _he’s_ dating, he shouldn’t judge me for who _I_ date.”

 Luke actually put his sandwich down. "Well, then, why's he so upset?"

"That's the question, isn't it." Calum pillowed his head on his arms, groaning. "He's Michael, he's weird. He was weird when I started hanging out with _you_.”

Luke coughed. “Cal, does Michael maybe think you’re dating?” he put forward hesitantly. “He’s really jealous--”

Calum gagged. “ _No_. Definitely not.”

“It’s a poss--”

“ _Definitely not_ ,” Calum said empathetically. “He probably had a crush on Carly, or something.”

“If you say so," Luke said. His expression was somewhere between doubt and pleasant surprise,  and for whatever reason that ticked Calum off. He spent the rest of the day grumpy and snapping at anyone who so much as looked at him.

The next morning, Michael was waiting at their normal corner and fell into step with Calum to walk to school. He chattered as if nothing had happened, as If he hadn't just spent a week freezing Calum out entirely. Calum was quietly speculative, thinking everything over.

He figured he could confront Michael about the whole Carly thing and risk another fight, or he could take Michael's reappearance for what it was and ignore the past week.

"Did you bleach your hair again?" Calum asked finally. Michael stopped babbling about whatever video game he'd been playing for the past few weeks and grinned sheepishly. He reached a hand up to scrub through his hair.

"Yeah, a little," he said. "Mum was _pissed_ but she's also in Melbourne or wherever, so it's whatever."

"Why's your mum in _Melbourne_?"

"Fuck if I know," Michael said cheerfully. "Dad was home, though, and and I don't think he's noticed yet. It's only a little bleach anyways, it's not like I went _platinum_."

 Luke met them at the school gate. He startled when he saw Michael and Calum together. His smile looked strangely sad, though it quickly turned indignant when Michael put him In a headlock to ruffle his hair. They saw Carly on the way to their first class, and Calum quickly looked away, still stinging from being dumped. He didn't look away quickly enough to avoid seeing her knowing smirk, and spent the rest of the day wondering what the fuck she meant by it.

==


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys meet Ashton Irwin, and the world begins to change for Calum and Michael.

**==**

**AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2011--Michael, Calum & Luke 15**

==

 

Calum got a letter on a Thursday at the beginning of August. Mali-Koa had brought in the mail and left it fanned across the table in neat piles. Their dad had the largest pile and his mum a sizable stack as well. Mali had already collected her mail, leaving a relatively small pile of magazines and envelopes for Calum. As they passed the table on the way to grab snacks out of the kitchen, Calum snagged his mail and shouted hello to Mali-Koa.

Michael found a box of Pop-Tarts and put them in the toaster while Calum sat down to tear open his mail. He usually got a sports magazine and a monthly FC Madrid newsletter that Michael continuously gave him shit for, but the thick manila envelope addressed to Calum T. Hood, c/o David and Joy Hood was unusual.

“Wonder what it is?” Michael hooked his chin over Calum’s shoulder. “C’mon, open it, I wanna see.”

“I have no clue, Mikey,” Calum said as he slit open the envelope. Inside were six or seven pages folded up all nice and neat, green, pink and white. The top sheet, when he unfolded them, was formal white letterhead with a gold seal at the bottom.

“Did you win something?” Michael asked. Calum batted at him.

“I haven’t _read_ it yet,” he told Michael crossly and started to read.

_IAYFA FOOTBALL ACADEMY AND TRAINING CAMP_

_Dear Parents and Athletes,_

_Thank you for your application to International Association of Youth Football Athletes Training Camp 2011, hosted in Uruguaiana, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil. Congratulations! You have been accepted to the camp and we are pleased to offer you a full scholarship based on your athletic ability and talent demonstrated at the open try-outs in Sydney, Australia this past year…_

Calum dropped the letter.

“What happened?” Michael asked, halfway across the kitchen, fetching plates for the pop-tarts that had just popped out of the toaster. When Calum didn’t reply, he set the plates down and prompted an answer again. “Cal?”

“Remember that footie camp in Brazil I applied to?” Calum managed finally, reaching to pick the letter up off the kitchen floor. “The month-long thing?”

“There was that Saturday audition thing in like, February, right? You bailed on our movie night,” Michael remembered. He pouted a little and Calum gave him a distracted shrug, trying to decide if he was hallucinating the letter or not.

“I got in.”

“No _way_.”

“They’re offering me a full scholarship,” Calum added weakly.

“ _No way._ ” Michael dropped the pop-tarts onto the plates and scrambled for the letter to read for himself. “Well, you’re going.”

“It’s during school--”

“Then you get out for a month.”

“It’s in _Brazil_.”

“So you get to see the world a little and go to the home of great football.” Michael gave the letter back to Calum and grabbed the pop-tarts off the counter. “You’ve got to go, you can’t pass this up, Callie.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.” A smile broke across Calum’s face. “I got in!” He whirled Michael around in a hug, the both of them shrieking in celebration. When Mali came down to investigate the ruckus, Calum thrust the letter at her and she shrieked too.

As it turned out, there was a lot of paperwork involved with going to football camp in Brazil for a month. Calum had to get permission from the school for makeup work and he had to obtain a visa; beyond that, there were medical forms and permission slips and liability waivers, enough paperwork to make his head spin. The band ground to a halt with Calum so busy.

In order to spend time together, they revised for their end of term exams as a trio rather than practicing their instruments or recording covers. They’d done this at the end of last term too, revised rather than practiced, but Calum sort of felt like it was his fault they weren’t having fun. The Sunday evening before exams started, they found themselves spread out in Luke’s room, a Good Charlotte CD spinning away in Luke’s laptop.

“You can make covers without me,” he said, looking over to Luke and Michael. They were poring over Luke’s maths textbook as Luke tried to explain why, exactly, Michael needed to know these particular formulas. Luke looked up, squinting a little. He needed new glasses but was stubbornly refusing to let his mum take him to the optometrist. “I won’t be mad.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Michael said flatly. “It’s a _month_. We just posted a cover, and it’s not like it’s a big deal. You’re playing footie in Brazil, that’s way more important than us singing, like, Green Day.”

“I’d have to kill him if he missed a Green Day cover,” Luke said mildly. “Just on principle.”

“I’d ritually kill myself if I let you cover a Green Day song without my being there.” Calum set his book down. He started to get a little infuriated, thinking of how Michael completely and totally _would_ slaughter a Green Day cover just to annoy him.

“We’ll make him learn bass or drums as punishment,” Michael said, as if Calum hadn’t spoken at all. “Actually, let’s just make him play bass in general. We need one anyways.”

“C’mon, keep revising your chemistry.” Michael made a face at Luke’s abandonment of their banter, and snorted as Luke jabbed his pencil in the air towards Calum. “That way Dr Wilkins can’t keep you from going to Brazil.”

“I love you guys, you know that?”

Michael threw his flashcards at Calum. They weren’t bound together so they scattered everywhere. “I could have planned that better,” he said dryly when Luke let out a crinkly-eyed cackle.

Calum felt a deep belly laugh welling up and struggled to keep a straight face. Michael pouted and primly returned to revising for maths, completely ignoring his flashcards all over the carpet. That was the last straw for Calum, who collapsed in laughter.

Luke’s mum peeked in. “How goes the revising?” Calum and Luke were both crying with laughter and Michael only offered her a shrug.

“I see,” she said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Working hard or hardly working?”

“You tell me,” Michael said. “I think they’ve gone insane.”

“Have not!”

Liz rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “Dinner’s in half an hour,” she reminded them. “If you need maths help, I could be persuaded to give some hints if you promise to help with the dishes.”

“Yes, Mrs Hemmings,” Calum managed, finally calming down.

“It’s Liz,” she said. “Miss Liz if I hate you, but Mrs Hemmings is my mother-in-law. Bloody nightmare of a woman, if you ask me, a total harpy--”

“ _Mum_!”

“Oh, that’s right, you _like_ your grandmother.” Liz sighed. “I’ll pretend to like her, but only until you move out, then I’ll set up my voodoo shrine in your closet and no one can stop me.” She clapped her hands together. “Right, get back to studying, you lot, so I can tell your mums I was a proper, responsible mummy who made you learn things.” She waved and disappeared down the hallway, shouting for Luke’s brothers.

“I like your mum,” Michael said.

“Everyone likes my mum,” Luke grumbled, and pointed at the flashcards. “Are you going to work with those, or not?”

“Rather not,” Michael said. Calum threw the flashcards back at Michael one by one. Michael caught them, sniggering. Somehow, they didn’t get much more revising done before dinner.

==

After everyone had eaten and Michael had volunteered to help with the dishes, Liz pulled Michael aside.

“Joy talked to me about your situation,” she said. Michael suddenly felt very ashamed, though he didn’t really know why. He looked down and focused on sorting the silverware into the dishwasher. “You’re welcome here when Calum’s gone, and, well, whenever you want, really.”

“What did Calum’s mum tell you?” Michael asked, humiliated that Calum’s mum was telling other people about his family.

“You’re an only child whose parents travel a lot for work,” Liz said gently. She kept her tone even and kind, and didn’t look at Michael like she pitied him. “That you eat dinner at her house most nights so you’re not alone, and that she’s practically adopted you as a second son.”

Michael nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “It’s not so bad as that.”

“I never said it was bad.” Liz sighed. “Michael, look at me.”

Slowly, Michael obeyed. Liz gave him a smile and opened her arms for a hug. Michael accepted it. “You’re welcome here if you’d like. I can talk to your mum and dad for permission, if you’d prefer, but I figured you might like the option. The same goes for Calum--I’ll tell him he’s welcome here anytime too, if that makes this less awkward for you.”

Michael looked back down. “Thank you, Mrs Hemmings.”

“I told you, it’s Liz. Be careful with the Mrs or I might just refuse to answer to any name but Mum, and that’ll just mortify Luke.”

Michael cracked a smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Liz smiled and nodded. “Shoo, you. I’ll be up in fifteen minutes to quiz you on your maths.”

Luke asked “what’d my mum want?” when Michael settled back onto Luke’s bed with his flashcards.

“Nothing,” Michael said, and flashed a winning smile. He considered making a crude joke, scare Luke off the topic permanently, but decided against it. “How does this work again, exactly?”

Calum shook his head fondly and took the flashcards from Michael to try explaining, yet again.

 

**==**

**OCTOBER 2011-Michael, Calum & Luke 15**

**==**

 

Luke got new glasses in late September, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t immediately followed it up with the world’s worst haircut a week later. He wound up looking like he was thirteen, not fifteen, and his less-kind classmates took it upon themselves to remind him of it daily. Michael spent quite a lot of time hissing at anyone who dared to look at Luke cross-eyed but they weren’t together all the time. Luke would sometimes come to lunch sad, and Michael knew someone had been making rude comments about his fluorescent green glasses and short haircut. Calum was distracted throughout their exams, but he found time to get into a fight over Luke’s honor.

“I can take care of myself,” Luke snapped when he found out, glaring at Calum.

“Look what happens when you do!” Calum raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’ve been wanting to punch Anthony for ages now anyways, you just gave me an excuse.”

“It’s not like he landed any good hits,” Michael chipped in. He was texting and looked perfectly innocent, as if he hadn’t spent the morning in the headmaster’s office for supergluing Anthony’s belongings to his desk while Calum had distracted him with a solid punch to the nose. Anthony had reluctantly agreed to leave Luke alone to stop Michael from doing worse than just gluing everything he owned to, well, everything else he owned.

“Don’t even start, you,” Luke said, whirling on Michael. Calum snorted when Michael raised his hands in mock surrender. “ _I can take care of myself_.”

“Yeah, okay.” Michael shrugged. The expression on his face belied his real intent: he was going to keep trying to help until either he or Luke was dead, and he’d probably go beyond that.

“Give it up,” Calum advised Luke solemnly. The fact that Calum’s lip was still bleeding didn’t make Luke feel any better. “When Mikey’s got his mind set on something, you’re completely and totally fucked.”

Luke buried his face in his hands. “I hate both of you, so much.”

“Your life was meaningless before us,” Michael chirped in reply, completely unworried. Luke just groaned in despair. “You were aimless, despondent, wandering the streets, alone and unloved--”

Luke peeled one hand away from his face to flip Michael off. Naturally, that was when a teacher rounded the corner and told Luke off for obscene gestures in school.

Two days later, Calum left for Brazil; he’d taken his maths exam early, so while he was taking off, Luke and Michael were finishing up their exam. Luke breezed through it while Michael gritted his teeth all the way up until he handed it in.

With Calum gone, Michael latched onto Luke ever more firmly. For the first time ever, he invited Luke to spend the night on Friday, the nights traditionally reserved as Michael-and-Calum nights. Luke wasn’t quite sure if he should feel honored that Michael was sharing this with him or if he should be a little offended that he was Calum’s fill-in. Either way, Luke found himself on Michael’s doorstep with a sleeping bag in tow, and then dropping his things on Michael's bedroom floor.

“My mum and dad aren’t home,” Michael explained, sitting crosslegged on his bed. Luke flopped into the beanbag chair he always sat in when they hung out at Michael’s. Federer, Michael’s black poodle mix licked Luke’s hand and tried to crawl into his lap for pets and affection. Luke let him. “They’ll be home on, like, Tuesday, but they left me money for food though, so Cal and I usually get Indian. Unless you want to eat something else? We could get pizza or something.”

“Indian’s good,” Luke said. He pushed his glasses up his nose--he still wasn’t quite used to wearing them. He’d tried not wearing them for a day in school, but he couldn’t see the teacher writing on the board and Calum had sent him disapproving looks until he’d put them back on. A few people had made rude comments about them, which just made Luke hate them all the more. Federer whined and licked Luke’s hand when he stopped getting ear scratches. Michael laughed when Luke started petting the dog again with a resigned look on his face.

Michael phoned in their food order and half an hour later they walked the fifteen minutes to pick up the food. Michael shared an earbud with Luke as they walked, Federer bounding around their feet. Luke didn’t know all the songs that played but he recognized Good Charlotte and The Cab. Michael hummed along and danced a little as they walked, nearly tripping over Federer’s leash. Luke was proud that Michael was letting him see this side of his personality.

They ate in Michael’s room; Michael fed Federer and firmly shut him out so he wouldn’t go after their dinner. Luke had always vaguely recognized that Michael’s room smelled like Michael, but it wasn’t until they opened the takeaway that he realized what Michael’s scent was.

“Your room smells like poppadums,” he said in realization as Michael tore open the foil packet with the poppadums in.

Michael rolled his eyes and pushed half the flat bread at Luke. “Eat your _murgh makhani_ , don’t whine about how my room smells.” He opened the container with the _jeera pulao_ and unwrapped the plastic forks from the napkins they’d been rolled in.

“It’s a good smell,” Luke protested, and tried not to think of how often Michael would have to eat by himself in his room for it to perpetually smell like authentic Indian.

“It’s good food,” Michael said mildly, and quickly changed the subject.

They stayed up until three am messing around on Michael’s xbox and watching music videos on youtube. Michael dozed off while they were listening to an hour long interview with Federer curled in between them. Luke didn’t notice until the video had ended; Michael was a quiet but restless sleeper and Luke had just assumed he’d been absorbed by whatever the band was saying.

Luke closed the laptop and put it on the floor next to Michael’s bed. He tried to disentangle himself from Michael, set up on the floor with his sleeping bag (and Federer, who would undoubtedly join him), but stilled when Michael clung to his shirt and made a soft noise of distress. Luke reached out and smoothed the wrinkles in Michael’s forehead with a gentle finger and shuffled them so they were both lying down, pressed together in Michael’s twin bed. He dragged the duvet up over them and Michael snuffled quietly and unconsciously pulled Luke closer.

There were a lot of things Luke wondered about Michael, but the reason why Michael was so used to sleeping with someone was at the top of his mind as he tried to fall asleep. It took an hour, but eventually Luke drifted off. When he woke, Michael had pulled away at some point in the night. Luke added that to his pile of things to wonder about and went in search of the toilet.

==

It was strange starting back up at school without Calum there. Michael walked by himself to school, and he got scolded for having his tie done up wrong at morning assembly. Usually Calum caught any of Michael’s more blatant dress code violations before he ever got written up, but he wasn’t there, and he wouldn’t be there for another two weeks. There was an empty desk next to Michael in most of his classes, and the teachers kept giving him extra copies of everything for Calum, as if he was out sick.

Michael felt shockingly lonely, even though he had Luke to sit with. Calum never missed school, was never sick, so it was strange that he wasn’t there.

Luke felt the impact of Calum’s absence too; some of their meaner classmates caught onto the fact that Luke wasn’t going to fight back and that Calum wasn’t there to act as enough of a deterrent.

Something happened that caused Luke to clam up and refuse to talk to Michael for a good two days; when he finally did start talking to Michael again he was so sullenly upset that Michael conspired to drag him to the movies to see Harry Potter 7 part 2 for the sixth time in an attempt to cheer him up. It was also partially to cheer himself up, since Calum was still gone, but he wasn't going to admit that.

Once they’d got inside, Luke excused himself to go to the bathroom, while Michael got snacks.

Three of their classmates passing by caught Michael’s eyes while he waited in line. He swore to himself, recognizing them as the people who especially enjoyed making Luke absolutely miserable. Luke was in the toilets, though, maybe they wouldn’t see him.

Michael swore under his breath again as he lost sight of their classmates. He wound through the line and got popcorn and chocolate, which he immediately mixed together.

He heard taunting calls as they rounded the corner to the bathrooms, and Michael’s heart sunk. “Oh, no.”

He found Luke cornered with three of their classmates surrounding him, a blond stranger stepping in to protect Luke.

“Leave the boy alone,” the blond was saying angrily, gesticulating near-violently. He looked to be older than them by a year, maybe two, and he had a few inches of height on their classmates. He wouldn’t have been intimidating to anyone else, probably, but it seemed to work, as the three boys harassing Luke slunk off.

“It’s okay, man, _I_ like your glasses,” the blond said to Luke kindly. He deflated a little now that no one was bothering Luke, but puffed up when Michael hurried over.

“Were they bugging you again?” Michael demanded, a little put out. “I was gone for like, five minutes, what the hell? The fuck is their problem?”

“Is this an ongoing thing?” the blond stranger asked. Michael went to cuddle Luke a little, since he looked sad and upset.

“Only recently,” Luke said, flushing and not meeting Ashton’s eyes. He held himself stiffly, still not used to Michael’s cuddles in public. “The glasses are new.”

“The haircut isn't helping,” Michael added. He offered popcorn to first Luke, then the stranger. “Usually they leave him alone when I’m with him, but I went to get snacks, and I guess they cornered him, right Lukey?”

Luke shrugged and waved off the popcorn. “I have to learn to deal with it on my own sometime, right?”

“We’re a band, man, you shouldn’t have to.”

“You’re in a band?” the blond asked, looking interested. “Just the two of you?"

"We've got one more," Michael said. "But he's got a footie thing right now, so, yeah, the two of us."

The blond looked delighted. "That’s awesome. You doing band bonding, or whatever?”

“Or whatever,” Luke and Michael chorused. The blond laughed.

“Ashton, by the way,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet and tapping a nervous beat on his thigh with twitchy fingers. His smile was wide enough Michael’s face hurt just looking at him. “Ashton Irwin.”

“Luke Hemmings,” Luke chipped in, finally starting to smile a little bit.

“I’m Michael Clifford.” Michael burrowed into his hoodie, feeling distinctly left out. “We’re going to be late to see the film start.”

“They’ve always got trailers on first,” Luke said dismissively. “And we’ve seen it already.”

“What’re you going to see?”

“Harry Potter,” Michael replied. Luke shuffled a little, curling into Michael’s side.

“He's trying to cheer me up,” Luke offered. “What’re you seeing?

“The same,” Ashton said. “I’m taking my little sister. She’s in the bathroom, so. Actually, here she is.”

Ashton’s little sister came out of the bathroom just then and hid behind Ashton as they walked to the theatre together. She eyed them suspiciously for monopolizing her brother on what she clearly saw as brother-sister time.

“So you said you’re a band, right?” Ashton asked, as they pushed open the theatre doors. “If you ever need a drummer, message me on Facebook, I’d love to jam sometime.” With that, he took his sister across the theatre, giving them a jaunty wave.

The pair of them found their seats, relieved that the movie hadn’t yet started.

“Ashton Irwin’s the year 11 at Richmond who dated Chrissy Bretton, right?” Luke asked, stealing some of Michael’s chocolate-popcorn mix. “The whole drama thing, right?”

“I’ve got no idea,” Michael said as he cradled the popcorn protectively to his chest. He glared and hissed at Luke when he tried to sneak a handful. “Not until the movie starts!”

Luke cradled his hand to his chest, pouting. Michael relented and pushed the popcorn bucket at Luke, who took a palmful and munched on it happily.

“Didn’t you meet him at a party?”

Michael shrugged. “Mm. Maybe? I meet a lot of people at parties, Hemmo.”

“No, you don’t. You have sleepovers with Calum and _pretend_ you went to parties.”

“I can take away your popcorn privileges at any time, you know.”

“Yeah, but you won’t really.” Luke beamed sunnily, the very picture of innocence. He might’ve been able to pull it off, if he hadn’t had chocolate smeared on his cheek. “What was the party you met Ashton Irwin at?”

“Calum had a football team victory party, or something,” Michael said, caving. He flicked at Luke’s fringe, rolling his eyes. “It was a house party, pretty much. Ashton Irwin was drumming for the band that played, only they really, really sucked. He was the only decent member, and you can’t really make much of a song out of just, like, drums. We got to talking about their godawful Blink cover, and then Calum came back from wherever he’d gone off to--”

“And you spent the rest of the party following Calum around,” Luke finished.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Michael took a handful of popcorn for himself. “He was nice, I guess. Nice enough to defend you from complete strangers and all.”

The lights dimmed and Luke scrambled to turn off his phone. By the time the movie ended, Luke had almost completely forgotten about Ashton Irwin.

==

Michael wasn’t sure how he felt about Calum being gone.  On one hand, Calum was playing football in Brazil,  and was completely over the moon about it, and it showed in his near daily letters. He wrote Michael the whole time he was gone. The letters took a while to get back to Australia, but Michael saved all of them in his special-things shoebox, all dozen of them with school photos and concert tickets and their tattered friendship bracelets. Calum’s spiky handwriting covered pages of lined paper in each letter, and Michael eagerly wrote him back the first two weeks, but his letters wouldn't get to Calum if he sent them after those first two weeks.

It was just...Calum was having fun across an ocean and on another continent.  His letters had bits of Spanish and Portuguese in them now--apparently Uruguaiana was close enough to Argentina for day trips across the border--and Michael had never even left Australia. He'd barely even left Sydney, and Calum was halfway across the world. Luke was nice, fun even, but he wasn't Calum.

So when Calum came back, Michael was overjoyed.  He spent three days bouncing around excitedly, much to Luke’s exasperation. When the time came to pick Calum up at the airport, he went with Mali-Koa and Calum’s parents to meet him. He and Mali made a sign with Calum’s name on it in obnoxiously shiny glitter and waved it until they found Calum, who hugged first his parents and sister, then clung to Michael.

“Longest month ever,” Calum breathed into Michael's ear as he and Michael staggered around, giggling.

“I missed you,” Michael said back. Eventually they separated but Calum still rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. Joy cooed and took photos while Mali and Calum’s dad went to fetch Calum’s bags off the belt.

“Did you bring back souvenirs?” Michael asked, vaguely proud of the fact that he’d be in yet another Hood family photo album. He probably had appearances in at least six years’ worth of them by now. “We can’t be friends if you didn’t.”

“I brought back nothing for you, you heathen,” Calum sniffed, but relented when Michael turned his big puppy eyes on him. “Fine, yes. I have presents. But you don’t get them until I’ve had a long nap.”

“It’s like, two in the afternoon!” Michael said incredulously.

“Which means it’s one in the morning in Rio,” Calum said primly. He yawned, as if to prove his point. “I want a nap.”

“You could’ve slept on the plane,” Joy pointed out as Mali came up with Calum’s big roller bag. Behind her, David carried Calum’s footie duffel.

“Turbulence,” Calum said grimly. “Lots and lots of turbulence.”

“Aww, big baby,” Mali teased and reached over to ruffle Calum’s hair. “Was the big baby scared of sleeping on the plane alone?”

“No, big baby was too busy throwing up.” Calum pushed her hand off of his head. Not bothered at all, Mali-Koa just reached over to ruffle Michael’s hair.

Michael sulked at Mali messing up his carefully styled hair; Calum batted his sister away and gently smoothed it back into place.

“Right, shall we go?” Joy asked. Michael hooked his and Calum’s elbows together as they walked back towards the car park.

“Tell me everything,” he said. Calum rested his head on Michael’s shoulder and started describing everything he could remember about Brazil. Mali-Koa linked her arm with Calum’s on his other side, and Calum grinned.

He paused in his story to say “I’m glad I’m home.”

Mali groaned and pushed at him, but Michael just smiled as if to say _I’m glad you’re home too_.

 

**==**

**NOVEMBER 2011** \--Ashton 17, Michael 15/16, Calum & Luke 15

==

 

The first week Calum was back in Sydney was long and exhausting for Calum. He had to catch up his two weeks’ worth of school work and recant near-everything he’d done in Brazil to his football team, including demonstrations of new drills. Mikey demanded time--he always demanded Calum’s time, to be perfectly honest--and Luke gently nudged his way in, unobtrusively but still there.

The end result was that Calum was exhausted right down to his bones. He did his best, but catching up was _hard_.

Something had to give, he just couldn’t handle it all at once. Michael and Luke caught on when he fell asleep in class twice and begged off spending time with them over the weekend. Instead of sleeping over at Mikey’s, he plowed through as much of his makeup work as he could and gratefully toppled into bed four hours before his alarm was set to go off at eight for early morning football practice before a game.

When he woke up, the sun was brightly streaming through his curtains and there were two extra bodies in his bed. He’d have screamed in horror if he hadn’t recognized Michael’s voice teasing Luke.

“What are you guys doing here?” Calum managed groggily, rubbing at his eyes. His brain felt rather like overcooked oatmeal.

“Hanging out with you,” Michael told him, and took Calum’s recent wakefulness as permission to limpet onto Calum’s left side. He was pressed in the foot-wide gap between Calum and the wall, and Calum wasn’t sure how Michael had gotten there without jostling him awake. “You were _really_ asleep, so we didn’t wake you up.”

Calum gaped a little.

“Michael woke me up at five this morning and your sister let us in,” Luke chipped in. He was on the very edge of the bed, his back resting against the headboard with Calum’s maths notebook on his lap. He was diligently erasing and correcting equations. “You could’ve said you were struggling to catch up.”

“What are _you_ doing?”

“Fixing your maths,” Luke said disconcertedly, and kept writing. “Your handwriting’s not so hard to imitate, really.”

Calum gaped a little.

“I also redid your formula sheet with better instructions, and gave you my set of flashcards. Michael did your music theory paper.”

“I spell-checked and edited your history and English papers too,” Michael chipped in. He burrowed a little deeper into the sheets, his arm still thrown over Calum’s waist.

“ _You_ can’t spell.”

“Can too,” Michael told him, tucking his head back into the crook of Calum’s neck. “I usually just can’t be arsed to do it. Typed ‘em up, too.”

“Why?”

“You skipped Friday night sleepover. You never miss Friday night sleepover, so I figured something was up.”

“Wait--” Calum paused and pushed Michael off of him so he could see the clock. “It’s eleven! I’m late for my game! How’d I sleep through my alarm?”

“We turned it off,” Luke told him, and turned a page in the notebook, making corrections all the way.

“You turned my alarm off?!”

“You didn’t wake up when we walked in and turned on all the lights, so your mum called your coach and said you’d caught a bug on the plane and were too sick to play well. He sent a get-well soon card. And one of your teammates with a box of donuts.”

Calum scrubbed his hands down his face. “Guys, I appreciate it, but I have to do this myself.”

“You _really_ don’t,” Michael told him. “Weren’t you the one who edited all my papers in Brennan’s class last year? This is just me paying you back, and calling in a favor on Luke.”

“What favor?”

“That’s a secret,” Michael said primly, and handed Calum a neatly organized folder. “Just take it for what it is. Finished homework, and a day off so your brain doesn’t melt.”

Calum opened his mouth to protest and immediately had Luke’s hand keeping him from talking. “Don’t argue.”

Calum licked Luke’s palm, just to be contrary, and got an unimpressed look in return. “I’m friends with Michael and I’ve got two older brothers. You really think that’ll work?”

“What’d he do?”

“Licked my palm,” Luke said, completely unconcerned, and kept writing on Calum’s maths homework. Michael got a look on his face that Calum barely had time to be worried over before Michael was leaning over and licking Calum’s face.

Calum shrieked and curled into a ball as Michael and Luke both burst into cackling laughter.

==

Michael looked suspiciously pleased with himself the Tuesday before his birthday. Calum eyed him suspiciously when they met up at the corner and decided not to ask. Whenever Michael got smug it usually ended with both of them having demerits, or someone getting grounded, or, like, fire or something equally awful. If he just didn’t ask, he wouldn’t be involved, really, and wouldn’t get murdered by his mum for destruction and death, and whatever.

Michael looked like he was about to explode with excitement, so Calum resigned himself to finding out sooner rather than later. It wasn’t really surprising when Michael burst out his secret the second they ran into Luke at the school gates.

“I got us a gig at the Annandale Hotel!” he exclaimed, and clapped his hands over his mouth. Calum and Luke both stared at him.

“Okay, that’s not a funny joke,” Luke said, and turned on his heel to huff off into the school. Calum folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at Michael.

“It’s _not_ ,” Michael said, dropping his hands and grabbing onto Luke’s sleeve. “We really have got one. I emailed them last month at like two am when I was in the middle of a Halo spree and totally sleep deprived, and I think it was when Calum was gone? I dunno, I do stupid shit when Cal’s not around to stop me--”

“Michael, get to the point.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair nervously. “I’d actually forgotten about it? But I sent them the link to our youtube channel and they wrote back this morning and said they had an open slot we could play at in three weeks, so I emailed back and said we were gonna do it.”

Calum gaped at Michael. Luke spluttered. Michael just beamed at both of them, clearly thinking he’d done something fantastic.

“We’re nowhere near good enough!” Luke exploded, shoving at Michael. “We haven’t got a drummer, or any original songs, or any practice, at all!”

Michael’s expression fell. “But--”

“We can’t have our first show be awful,” Luke continued, starting to look truly mad. It wasn’t an emotion either Michael or Calum had ever really seen on him, and it was pretty startling. “That’ll just ruin _everything_.”

Michael looked sad and sullen. “I thought it was a good idea,” he said quietly. Shaking his head, he squared his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll email them and say we can’t.”

“Well, you can’t do that _either_ ,” Luke snapped, and honest-to-god flounced off. Michael groaned and stormed off towards the bathrooms.

Calum stared between his best friends and decided to go after Luke first.

It took the twenty minutes before classes started and all of French to get Luke to calm down and agree that Michael hadn’t either been totally out of line or done something irrevocably stupid. Then it took all of maths, music, phys ed and lunch to talk Michael out of believing Luke hated him again and that they could actually play at the Annandale and not humiliate themselves too awfully. The rest of the day was devoted to getting Luke and Michael to talk to each other and sort out their own solution.

He trailed behind them as they walked to his house, trying not to get involved in their bickering. It mostly worked; he was pretty sure they were both trying to claim he was on their side.

By the time they got to his house, they’d worked something resembling a deal out: they’d play the gig, but Luke got to sort out gigs from now on and Michael lost access to the YouTube channel permanently.

Which, all things considered, Calum thought wasn’t too bad a deal.

==

Michael’s sixteenth birthday fell on a Sunday. Traditionally, Michael and Calum went and did something big to celebrate, but this year they spent the day with Luke watching movies and hanging out in Sydney proper. Michael’s parents dropped them off and promised to meet up with the trio for dinner later that evening.

They wound up in one of the music stores in downtown Sydney, looking through albums and at instruments.

“We need a bassist,” Calum said, running his fingers over a shiny yellow bass guitar. “And a drummer.”

Michael made a face. “We’re managing.”

“We’re really not,” Luke said. “No offense, but you’re awful at drums, Mikey.”

“That’s a kind thing to tell someone on their birthday.”

“You know it’s true.”

“Shut up,” Calum said amicably. “Play nice.”

“I am being nice,” Luke protested. “We need a good drummer if we want to be punk.”

“We don’t really need three guitarists,” Michael pointed out. “It makes sense that I stay on drums. I can learn, or whatever.”

“It’d make more sense for one of us to switch to bassist and to find a drummer,” Calum argued. At a nod from the clerk, he carefully lifted down the bass guitar and settled it in his lap. “It’s just a different version of the same instrument. Just a bit bigger and missing a couple strings.”

Michael hummed and peered at the instrument while Calum tried out a few chords. “Don’t think I’d take to it so well.”

“I might--” Luke started, but Calum shook his head.

"I'll play bass," Calum said, pulling his hands away from the instrument to set it back on the rack. "Mikey, you and Luke are both better than me at guitar. I can learn bass and not have bad habits, or lose so much. I'll borrow the bass guitar from school until we figure out if I suck at it. Besides. Something feels right about me playing bass."

"You've got the time?"

"I've got the time,” Calum reassured them, and went about picking out more guitar picks. Luke and Michael exchanged glances, to which Michael shrugged.

“If he says he’s got it, he’s got it,” Michael said. He pushed off the wall and went back to drooling over one particular steel-string acoustic guitar he’d had his eye on for nearly a year at this point. Luke followed him, mainly to ensure that Michael didn’t try to smuggle the guitar out of the shop.

As it turned out, Calum took to the bass guitar easily. He swore up and down it was easier, with less strings and less complicated chords, being that it was mostly the same instrument anyways. Luke and Michael didn't believe him; whenever they tried to play it, their ingrained acoustic guitar habits kicked in and they fumbled the whole process.

The school's music director was just relieved someone finally had an interest in playing bass guitar and worked with him one on one to improve his technique.

“We’ve got one half of a rhythm section,” Calum said lazily, one afternoon. He, Luke, and Michael were all hanging out in Michael’s room. He’d played a footie game that morning and his friends had attended to cheer him on. He was pleasantly tired and at ease now, his team having won. It wasn’t common for him to be this relaxed anymore, not with footie being such a big deal now and having to catch up with the first two weeks of term on top of that. “We need a drummer, if this is going anywhere.”

“All the drummers suck,” Michael complained.

“All of them? All the drummers in the world?” Calum teased. Michael sat up and stared him down.

“ _All of them_.”

“What about that guy we met at the cinema?” Luke suggested. He pushed at Michael’s shoulder, trying to reclaim what space he’d staked out on Michael’s bed. “Ashley, Ashton, whatever his name was?”

“What guy, when’d you go to the cinema?” Calum pouted. “Did you go without me?”

“We went to see Harry Potter without you,” Michael told Calum absently. “Ashton Irwin?”

“Yeah, him,” Luke said over Calum’s indignant noises. “Didn’t he say he was interested?”

“He was being polite.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“What happened?” Calum asked. “Ashton Irwin’s the one who dated Chrissy Bretton, right?”

“Maybe,” Michael said at the same time Luke went “ha! I told you so!”

Michael sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. “We went to the movies.” Calum nodded, still looking confused. “And the jerks harassing Luke about his glasses were there.”

“They were making fun of my haircut more than the glasses,” Luke chipped in somberly. “Someone--Ashton--stepped in and told them off and they left me alone.”

“He was taking his little sister.” Michael rolled his eyes, as if to emphasize how lame going to the cinema with your younger siblings was. Calum rather thought Michael had no room to talk, being an only child. “We got talking while she was in the bathroom, after he’d rescued Luke from the jerks, and he offered to jam sometime.” He made air quotes with his fingers, though what he was quoting Calum wasn’t quite sure of. “He was probably just being nice ‘cos he felt sorry for Luke.”

Luke yelped and glared. “We should ask anyways. Maybe he _wasn’t_ just being nice.”

Michael rolled his eyes and pushed Calum out of the way so he could wake up his computer. He logged into his facebook and pulled up Ashton Irwin’s Facebook page. “If you’re so keen on asking him, _you_ ask him.”

“What? How?”

“Send him a Facebook message,” Michael said airily. “Hey, remember me? I was getting made fun of at the cinema and you stopped bullies from beating me up. Wanna join my band? I promise I’m not as dorky and desperate as I sound.”

“I wouldn’t say that! Besides, you’re on your Facebook anyways.”

“Calum should do it, he’s the most neutral.”

“What? No! I don’t even know the guy! You do it," Calum hissed, glare flicking between Ashton Irwin's open Facebook page and Michael. "You're the oldest."

"What? _No_ , why me?" Michael hissed right back. Luke smirked from where he was lounging on Michael's bed, watching the drama unfold over Calum's shoulder. "Luke should do it, he's the singer."

Luke yelped and ducked when both Calum and Michael turned to look at him. "What makes you think he'd listen to _me_?"

“You’re the lead singer,” Calum said, standing up. Luke shrieked and curled into a ball to protect himself from Calum’s tickle-assault. “You should have to deal with potentially-humiliating Facebook messages.”

Michael watched the rather one sided tickle war with vague amusement until Calum grew bored and dropped back into his chair next to Michael.

“Seriously, someone has to send him a message,” Luke said finally. “We’ve got to at least open it as an option.”

Michael sighed and shoved Calum away from the keyboard. “Fine, I’ll do it, you _babies_.” He typed out a message, ignoring Calum’s input. Before Calum or Luke could veto the message, he sent it and closed out the browser, and wheeled away. “Done. Anyone want to play Call of Duty?”

When Michael checked his Facebook a few hours later--Calum and Luke were loudly arguing over if Calum’s victory had been due to him snagging the better controller or if he actually was just that skilled--Ashton had messaged him back.

“What’d he say?” Calum asked. He plopped onto Michael's lap, intent on opening the message himself.

“Haven’t read it yet, Cal-pal,” Michael grumbled. He leaned back and let Calum navigate through the facebook messenger. Luke grabbed onto the back of the swivel chair, peering over Michael and Calum’s heads to read.

_hey mike! i’d love to!! let me know when/where and we can totally mess around with sound and whatever. it’ll be great!! -ash xx_

“He signed off with two Xs,” Michael said, cocking his head. “And a lot of exclamation points.”

“He’s an enthusiastic guy,” Calum put in. “Remember when he played that party where they did nothing but play Taylor Swift covers? He was as into that as when he played with the really, really punk band.”

“They were _not_ punk. And when do you have time to go to parties where Ashton Irwin is playing?”

“Saturday evenings,” Calum said promptly, shooting Michael an exasperated glare. “Football parties. You usually bail the second I use ‘football’ and ‘party’ in the same sentence.”

“I do not. I go to football parties!”

“Like, twice, you’ve gone to football parties. Parties happen more often than that.”

Michael stuck out his tongue. Before he and Calum could dissolve into a squabble, Luke interjected. “We’ve got a drummer!”

“We’ve got a _potential_ drummer,” Michael corrected. “We might not mesh or he might join another band.”

“He won’t,” Luke said so confidently that Michael believed him. Calum snorted.

“Let’s start small,” he said. “Right now we just need a drummer for the Annandale Hotel gig.”

 “Like a test run?”

“More like a stopgap.” Calum rolled his eyes and got jostled out of the way so Michael could write Ashton back.

Ashton was apparently online, since they got a reply back immediately. They went back and forth and finally settled on a date and time for their first practice together so they could run through the setlist for the Annandale Hotel show before actually trying to perform together.

It was only after they logged off that Calum realized something.

“Shit,” he said, and flumped down onto the bed. “We set up practices for Tuesday.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I’ve got conditioning on Tuesday. I can’t skip.”

Michael stuck his tongue out at Calum. “Guess you’re out of the band then, forever and ever.”

Calum whined. Luke cackled. “You’ll just have to work extra hard,” he teased. “And try out in a few weeks.” Michael nodded solemnly and hooked his chin over Luke’s shoulder.

“Fuck you guys,” Calum whined.

Michael cackled and swung himself over to plant sloppy kisses all over Calum’s cheeks. “Oh, you know we love you!” he cried, and it wasn’t long before Luke had joined him in tormenting Calum. Losing their balance, they went down in a pile of limbs on Michael’s bedroom floor, laughing all the way.

==

 _Let me in_ , read the text from Calum, the light from his phone hurting Michael’s eyes. The soft chime had woken him up and he’d rolled over to read it.

Almost immediately, Michael swing out of bed and padded down the hall to open the front door.

Calum was standing there, wearing an overlong jumper and hugging himself.

“Everything okay?” Michael asked. Calum shrugged and slipped through the open door to toe off his shoes. “Want hot chocolate?”

To that, Calum cracked a small smile and nodded, and followed Michael into the kitchen. “Where’re your parents?” He picked two mugs out of the dish rack, Michael’s favorite one with a calico cat picture and the one he usually used, a black and white checkerboard patterned one. Federer trotted into the kitchen from where he’d been sleeping in the living room.

Michael shrugged. “I think Mum’s in Perth, and Dad’s in… Auckland, I think? Who knows.” He shared a small, private smile with Calum, a _what can you do_ expression that Calum knew all too well. Michael retrieved the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter, then broke up Dairy Milk bar and put half in each mug.

Calum watched in silence as Michael put them in the microwave to melt the chocolate, and then stirred in milk and heated the mixture again. He petted Federer when the dog butted his head against Calum’s thigh.

“C’mon, let’s go to my room,” Michael said, pushing Calum’s mug at him and picking up his own. Calum followed Michael, careful not to spill his hot chocolate all over the floor.

“So, what’s up?” Michael asked, when they were in the chaotic confines of Michael’s room. Calum put his mug down and tried to figure out where to start. Federer scratched at the door, unhappy at being shut out.

Calum shifted his weight back and forth. Michael set his mug on the bedside table, next to Calum’s, then reached out and pulled Calum into a hug. Calum went, tucked his face into Michael’s shoulder, and burst into tears.

Michael guided Calum to sit on the bed and comforted him as best he could, with little circles rubbed into Calum’s shoulders and small kisses pressed into Calum’s skin. Calum cried, great hiccupping sobs, until he cried himself out.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, when Calum’s breathing had returned enough to regular that he could speak without hiccuping.

“Coach thinks I’m getting scouted.”

Michael took a moment to process that. Scouting meant either Calum as a football player, or Calum as part of the band. Calum would have referred to the band in the plural if he’d been scouted as a musician, and he’d used the singular--and mentioned Coach.

Someone thought Calum was good enough at soccer to be worth putting onto a footie team as a professional.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Michael said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “They sent you to that camp, didn’t they?”

“Could be.” Calum sighed, warm breath soaking through Michael’s shirt. “I’d have to quit the band, if they wanted me. I couldn’t balance them. I can’t do everything now, and if I go pro I definitely couldn’t.”

Michael bit his tongue. His first instinct was to say that Calum should stay in the band, Calum should stay with _him_.

Calum loved football, he’d always loved it. If they were scouting him, he’d have some degree of professional success guaranteed. The band was just the three of them--and maybe Irwin, if he stayed--fucking around. Success wasn’t guaranteed, it wasn’t even _likely_.

“What’s your mum say?”

“Haven’t told her yet. Wanted to tell you first.”

Usually Michael was the clingy one, but now Calum held onto Michael like a lifeline. Like he wanted Michael to tell him what to do, and Michael didn’t have the answer.

“We’ve got an actual show,” Calum said quietly, after a minute passed. “Like. Someone wants us to come play music for them.”

“Yeah, they do,” Michael said, and shifted a little.

“We were just fucking around, and now we’ve got...well, this.”

“Yeah, Cal.”

“But Coach thinks I’m getting scouted.”

“Of course he does.”

“They sent me to footie camp.”

“Yeah, they did.”

Michael kept smoothing over Calum’s back, let Calum sniffle into his shirt.

“It’s break,” Michael said slowly, even though the little voice in the back of his head was screaming that Calum shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere, that he _wouldn’t_ go anywhere if Michael just said the word. “Or, almost break, anyways. Do both for now and decide before year 11 starts, banding or football. Whichever’s right will feel right, I guess.”

Calum sighed, long and deep. “You think so?” He didn’t let go of Michael’s hand.

“I know so. If you pick footie, I’ll be your WAG,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Follow you everywhere so you won’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Calum said, sounding sure for the first time that evening. “You’re my Mikey.” He leaned up to jokingly kiss Michael's cheek at the same time that Michael turned to look at Calum. Their lips collided and lingered for a second too long.

Calum backed off the second that Michael yelped, and they both burst into awkward giggles after a beat of stunned silence.

“Do I get kisses if you’re my WAG?” Calum asked. “Maybe staying in the band is safer.”

“Fuck you, my kisses are awesome,” Michael said, but looked nervous.

Calum paused. “Hey, Mikey?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that your first kiss?”

Michael stilled. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Calum let that sink in. “We can do better.”

“Huh?”

“We can kiss again and pretend that was your first kiss, ‘cos that one was kind of awful.”

Michael inhaled slowly. “Okay.”

Calum nodded to himself and leaned in. “You sure?” he asked, a half-inch before their mouths collided again.

“Sure as I’ll ever be,” Michael said, and let Calum kiss him.

It was sweeter than Calum expected, better than the accidental kiss they’d just shared. Calum kissed Michael gentle and languid, not wanting to startle him, and Michael kissed back as best he could. Calum’s cheeks were still damp from crying, and Michael wasn’t sure who this kiss was really for, if Calum didn’t need this as much as Michael did.

When they pulled apart, Michael was blushing and Calum was smug, and their earlier conversation was all but forgotten.

“There,” Calum said. “A better first kiss.”

“Thanks.” Michael shivered. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Calum stretched and pulled Michael to spoon properly, their legs tangling together. “C’mon, Mikey.”

Michael let himself be guided, and tried not to think about how he’d follow Calum anywhere, probably.

==

Michael sat on Luke’s bedroom floor, yawning. They’d had to run laps in Phys Ed today, and he made the mistake of trying to keep up with Calum. Calum, who played football and ran laps most days, and who was fiercely competitive.

It hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

His calves ached and he was just tired now, which was probably a bit to be expected. Luke had kept up with Calum easily and wasn’t even half as tired as Michael was. Michael blamed Luke’s freakish morning person thing and his early morning swim practices.

His phone buzzed with a text; it was probably Calum, taunting Michael as he sat in the car on the way to practice. Usually he’d bike there, but he’d elected to walk home with Luke and Calum that day, and his mum had only picked him up ten minutes ago.

“How are you not dead?” he asked Luke, leaning against the bed. His guitar was heavy in his lap and he tapped his fingers restlessly on her body. He should probably tune her a little, but he was feeling lazy and she was mostly alright at the moment.

“I do this thing called _exercise_ ,” Luke teased. His own guitar was on the bed, probably perfectly tuned by the same fairies who woke him up in the morning and made him chipper. “You should try it?”

“Unless you can make it involve Halo, no fucking way,” Michael told him. He leaned his head back against Luke’s freakishly well organized desk, though how much of that was Luke and how much was Liz Michael had no idea. He was surrounded by piles of dirty clothes and stacks of sheet music and books, and there was a tangle of wires from Luke’s computer about six inches from his left foot, so he was guessing it was probably Liz who insisted Luke keep his desk area clean. “What time is Irwin getting here?”

“He said four, but he was biking. Might be later than that.”

Michael stuck his tongue out at Luke. They’d made what they thought could be a proper setlist at lunch with Calum based on the covers they already knew how to play and what they thought they could learn in a few short weeks. Michael flicked at it half heartedly, already bored with it.

The doorbell rang, and Luke went to go get it, leaving Michael to wonder how weird this would be. Calum swore it wouldn’t be as bad as Michael thought it would be, but Calum wasn’t the one who had to meet the guy.

Luke wandered in after a second, with Ashton Irwin trailing in behind him. Michael blinked, trying to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was, and confirmed that yeah, Ashton Irwin was wearing possibly the most godawful shirt in existence. He shared a look with Luke that definitely confirmed that it wasn’t a hallucination.

“You’re both guitar, right?” Ashton dropped his backpack to the floor with a solid thunk, loud enough that Michael wondered what was in there. “And vocals?”

“I did bongos for a bit, but we decided I probably shouldn’t anymore, since I’m a bit crap at it.”

Luke snorted. “Understatement.”

“Hey you didn’t offer to _try_.”

Luke stuck his tongue out and flopped into his desk chair. “Yeah, guitar and singing.”

“Your other guy still not here?” Irwin asked cheerfully, probably remembering when they’d met at the cinema and Calum hadn’t been there. He folded himself up to sit crosslegged on Luke’s bed with a grace neither Luke nor Michael had, having not yet mastered their limbs after periodic growth spurts. “The bassist, right?”

“Football practice,” Michael explained, flicking a pick from hand to hand. “He tried to get out of it, but his mum made him go.”

“He any good?”

“He’s really good.” The pride was evident in Michael’s voice, and Ashton offered him a knowing smile.

“So. What’re we playing?”

Luke slid a piece of graph paper over to him, folded into neat quarters. Michael knew that inside was the list of songs they’d compiled in neat blue ink, carefully annotated with things like ‘youtube cover’ and ‘potential’ and ‘calum doesn’t know this one’. Ashton read over the list and hummed thoughtfully.

“You sure about this one?” he asked, tapping it with his fingernail. Michael absently noticed that some of his nails were colored black with sharpie and wondered if there was a story behind that.

Luke launched into a defense of why, exactly, they had three All Time Low songs on the list, and their first practice started without much fanfare.

 

**==**

**DECEMBER 2011** \--Ashton 17, Michael 16, Calum & Luke 15

==

 

Their first gig was _awful_.

Michael half expected Ashton to storm off and refuse to talk to any of them ever again, but instead Ashton just bounced on the balls of his feet and spun his drumsticks over his wrists and through his fingers. “We’ve just got to get better,” he said, and scratched at his shoulder with one drumstick. “Our first gig, it’ll be a great story later on.”

Michael was very quickly getting the impression that not much phased Ashton Irwin at all, judging by the fact that he was grinning like a loon after the complete and total mess that was their first gig.

Luke grimaced. “We’ve _been_ practicing.”

“Not together,” Calum pointed out, very reasonably. “We’ll practice together, get better.”

“We could always practice in my garage,” Ashton offered, slinging an arm around Calum’s shoulders. Michael prickled a little but contented himself with rubbing light circles onto the body of his guitar. Luke was leaning on his shoulder anyways. “Next Tuesday for the first one, maybe.”

“Fine by me,” Luke said, and nodded, jostling Michael a little.

“Sure,” Michael added. He looked around at their little ragtag group and wondered--what the fuck did Ashton see in them to want to stick around, and how long would it last?

“I’ve got footie on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Calum said apologetically. “Maybe Wednesday?”

“Wednesday works.” Ashton was practically beaming. “This is going to be _great_.”

 Michael wished he was half as confident as Ashton. They hung around for awhile, watching the other bands that came on after them, until Ashton’s mum called and told them to be outside and ready to go, she’d be there in fifteen minutes.

Michael had wanted to go explore a bit with Calum, take advantage of being allowed out past curfew, in an actual bar, but he wanted to impress Ashton too, weirdly enough. Everything had gone awfully, and Ashton had still decided to stick around, so maybe that was worth carrying Luke’s guitar for him.

“So, I’ve got to ask,” Ashton said, when it was just Michael helping to pack their instruments drum set into the back of Ashton’s mum’s car, when Cal and Luke had wandered off to try to snag drinks off of someone, and Mrs Irwin had gone off to collect them before they did too terribly much damage. “How long have you been together?”

Michael hummed and accepted Luke’s guitar case from Ashton. “Since April?” he said, and counted backwards in his head. “Yeah, since April. Nine months, give or take, but I’ve known Cal forever, practically.”

“You’re like a real life romcom. It’s completely adorable,” Ashton said, grinning wide and genuine. “So how long’s the band been a thing, then? How long have you known Luke for?”

“I told you, nine-- _oh_.” Michael nearly dropped Luke’s guitar when he realized. “Oh, _no_ , I’m not dating Calum, no, no.”

“But I thought--” Ashton frowned and flushed. “God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just--Luke said something about you being boyfriends?”

“It’s a running joke,” Michael said, and set down the guitar, face burning. He considered breaking it, as punishment. “Luke thought I was dating Calum when we first started hanging out and it took him like three months and Calum’s girlfriend to figure out otherwise.”

Ashton laughed. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. So, the band’s been a band for nine months?”

“It’s our baby, clearly.” Michael took the loop of cables from Ashton and set it on top of Luke’s guitar.

“I can tell. Hey, how long have you been playing your instruments and all?”

“I’ve been playing guitar for...five years? Cal only picked guitar up a year ago, and this was the first time he’d ever played this set of songs on bass, so.” Ashton raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yeah, it’s...yeah. Luke’s played guitar for three or four years, now, but mostly acoustic.”

“You still don’t have a permanent drummer, right?” Ashton asked. Michael hummed, nodding in confirmation. “Would you consider keeping me on?”

Michael nearly dropped everything he was holding. “Seriously?”

“I shouldn’t have asked--”

“ _Please_. If Luke and Cal don’t have any violent objections and you don’t absolutely hate us after the total disaster that was tonight--”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.” Michael stopped to give Ashton a long, skeptical look. Ashton snorted. “Okay, yeah, it _was_ that bad, but we’ll get better.”

“Anyways, if they don’t object and you don’t hate us, having a competent drummer wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“You guys are good,” Ashton said. They were done packing up the back of the van, so they sat on the bumper and waited for Ashton’s mum to come back with Luke and Calum. “Not very practised, but good. You suck less than any other band I’ve played with, and I play with a lot of bands.”

“Gee, thanks.” Michael leaned back and looked up at the sky, the streetlights glowing against the moon.

“I mean it.”

The thing was, Michael could tell Ashton really did mean it. He really thought that 5 Seconds of Summer was worth the effort, and was throwing his lot in with theirs, when he could be playing with any number of bands.

“Seriously.” Ashton leaned over to bump his shoulder against Michael’s. “You guys are gonna be great, and I’m gonna be there with you.”

Michael blinked. “Isn’t that like--a declaration of undying love, or something?”

“Who’s declaring undying love?”

“Ashton here is declaring his love for me in an attempt to be a permanent member of the band,” Michael said haughtily. “It might be working a little.”

Ashton sniggered and went along with it, still leaning against Michael’s shoulder. Calum glowered a little bit and slung his arm around Luke. Mrs Irwin sighed behind them, looking harried.

“Let’s go boys,” she said. “Lauren and Harry have probably harangued the babysitter into letting them stay up late and I’ve got to...not let that happen.” She rubbed at her forehead. “Have I got all four?”

They met up for their first band practice with everyone there a few days later, and Ashton fit in with their little group easier than Calum had ever thought possible. He was older, sure, but he wasn’t _mean_ about it. And, he didn’t really seem to mind that he was seventeen and they were all two years younger, either, and he put up with Michael’s whole territorial deal too, which was completely and totally a bonus.

Michael plopped onto Calum’s lap in the middle of a heated discussion about footie, and why Ashton disliked the FIFA game.

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?” he asked around a lollipop, as if he hadn’t just knocked the breath out of Calum.

Ashton, to his credit, didn’t blink at Michael’s intrusion.

“Talking ‘bout stuff,” he said, and grinned. “Lukey! Come join us!”

Luke gave them a dry look, sorting through his backpack. “Do I have to sit on Ashton’s lap?”

“Sure,” Ashton said, and patted his lap. “Plenty of space.”

“Your bony knees will break my arse.”

“Your bony arse will break my knees,” Ashton retorted. “Get over here, Hemmings.”

Luke rolled his eyes and gingerly sat on Ashton’s knees. He yelped when Ashton pulled him to sit more solidly and casually wrapped his arms around Luke’s waist.

“We should do a cover as all four of us,” Ashton said, holding tight to Luke’s middle. “As, like, a band.”

“You do that, you’re stuck with us forever,” Michael warned. Luke was holding as still as possible in Ashton’s lap, but Michael had no such qualms. He nearly elbowed Calum in the face as he shifted around. “Like, seriously, blood pact forever.”

“I _have_ seen your covers,” Ashton said. He was grinning in amusement. “I subscribed to the channel even before you two were on it.”

“Really?” Luke squeaked, suddenly flushing splotchy red.

Ashton snorted. “You really aren’t as bad as you think you are,” he told them. “Come on, a cover. What can we play?”

It took half an hour of debate (and Michael sticking his sucker into Luke’s hair) for Calum to suggest _Teenage Dirtbag_.

“Yes,” Luke said immediately. Ashton nodded along behind him. Luke had slowly relaxed until he was slumped against Ashton’s shoulder, but Michael had moved to sit next to Calum rather than on him.

“If we can wear Santa Hats,” Michael said, just to be contrary, and that was that.

They practised and bickered and mostly settled everything with what they wanted to do, until Michael’s dad wandered in, distractedly jabbing at the keys on his phone.

“Michael, your mother and I will be back in four days, we left money for food on the kitchen table and—oh. You’ve got friends over.”

Michael quickly stood up. “Dad, this is Luke and Ashton, and you know Calum.”

“Yes, of course. Hello, Colin, Lewis, Andrew.” His dad smiled tightly and waved at them awkwardly. Before anyone could correct him on the names, he turned his attention back to Michael. “We’ll be back late Friday evening, don’t wait up, and make sure you lock up when you leave for school.”

“Yes, Dad,” Michael said politely and stood stiffly to accept his kiss on the forehead. Michael’s dad gave them all a polite smile and breezed out of the room.

Ashton looked at Michael in confusion once he was gone. “That’s your dad?”

“That’s my dad,” Michael said, and avoided Ashton’s gaze.

“Is it always like that?”

Michael looked down and shrugged. “It’s whatever. They’re not here, so we can practice as loud as we want.”

“How long has your dad known Calum?” Luke asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Seven or eight years,” Calum said. He rolled his eyes and got up to give Michael a hug. “He’s awful with names.”

“I’d say he’s more than awful with names.”

“Look, guys, it’s--it’s whatever. He and Mum have to work, and...I get it, okay? They work so I can go to school and uni and everything, and...I’ve got friends and they’re always here for holidays, so it’s not _so_ bad.” Michael couldn’t stand the way that Ashton and Luke were looking at him, with renewed sympathy.

“So,” Calum said, intending to distract them. The glance Michael shot at him was relieved. “We’ve got a cover to do, right? We could film it by the Christmas tree tomorrow afternoon.”

Luke and Ashton seemed to accept it and they went on discussing and practicing, but Michael had the sneaking suspicion it was far from forgotten.

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are starting to get interesting for the boys. Thoughts, comments, concerns, theories?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum makes a decision.

**==**

**JANUARY 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael 16, Calum 15/16, Luke 15

==

 

Calum got a guitar for his birthday, a gorgeous steel-string acoustic. Calum was in love, and Michael was six shades of envious. Luke mostly thought Calum was lucky. While Calum’s parents had bought and gifted the guitar to Calum, Mali had picked it out and, when Calum unwrapped it, spent half an hour gloating over knowing exactly what her baby brother wanted. Now, when Calum’s parents had gone into the kitchen to fetch the cake and candles, she was engrossed in her phone.

“You going to name her?” Luke asked. He was sitting on Mali-Koa’s favorite movie night beanbag.

“What makes you think she’s a she?”

“Aren’t guitars usually shes?” Michael let his fingers skim over the wood and snatched his hand back when Calum shot him a glare. “She’s awfully pretty. If she’s a she,” he hastily corrected, when Calum’s glare sharpened.

“Might be a he. And I have to think about a name. I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Calum told Luke.

Calum’s parents came in then, David carrying the cake and Joy a stack of plates and forks. They sang happy birthday and Calum blew out his candles with a wish, which he stubbornly refused to divulge to either Michael or Luke.

Michael sulked.

“You always tell me your wish,” he griped. He pouted until Joy gave him a piece of cake with extra frosting.

“Not this year,” Calum said airily. He refused to put his guitar down, even when he was given his own piece of cake. Even though Michael was sulking, he set his own cake down so he could feed Calum a bite of cake while Calum clung to his guitar with both arms.

Mali snapped a photo with her phone. “You two are so sweet,” she said. “It practically makes me gag.”

“Send me that,” Calum’s mum ordered. Luke pretended to choke, only stopping when Michael threatened to actually give him the Heimlich and steal his cake to boot. “Photo album.”

Michael whined, but Calum knew he was secretly pleased at being part of yet another Hood family scrapbook. Mali took another photo of Luke, Michael and Calum together.

“You gonna marry that thing?” Mali teased, when Calum was still messing with the tuning pegs and skimming over the strings reverently an hour later. Michael and Luke were bickering over something or other pertaining to Luke’s guitar--Calum admittedly hadn’t been paying attention--and Calum was a little distracted.

“Maybe,” he said, and played the first chords to Jasey Rae. “I think she’s named Jasey.”

“It’s a good name,” Mali said, and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. “Good name for a good guitar. You happy?”

“Very.”

Unfortunately, footie and school both picked up immediately after Calum’s birthday and he didn’t have much time for either Jasey or banding. He revised, and he worked as hard as he could in practices, and usually fell asleep exhausted before he could even consider learning any new songs.

Michael still spent Friday nights at the Hood house, the one night a week Calum didn’t have football practice. As always, they watched movies and bickered until past midnight, when Calum’s mum inevitably knocked on Calum’s door and told them to hush up, for god’s sake.

After one particularly bad week, Calum came home and flumped onto his bed, rubbing his face into the duvet. “I’m so tired,” he groaned, and forced himself to sit up.

Michael hadn’t bothered to bring clothes of his own over, having just come straight from school. It didn’t really matter anyways, seeing as Michael was wearing a worn out pair of Calum’s shorts and a battered, soft t-shirt Calum vaguely recognized from a 5k race their school had done awhile back.

“Want to take a nap?” Michael asked, dropping down to sit next to Calum. “I am so down with naptime.”

“We haven’t gotten to hang out all week,” Calum protested. “I can stay up and we can talk and play FIFA and whatever.”

Michael wasn’t listening. He’d already toed off his shoes and started arranging the pillows to his liking. “I want a nap,” he announced, and wriggled under the duvet. “So you can either nap with me, or go do something else.”

Calum wanted to argue, but the idea of curling up in bed and cuddling a bit sounded nice. “Just for a few minutes,” he said. “Then we can go bug Mali, or something.”

He woke up at dinnertime to Mali snickering in the doorway. He tried to figure out why she was laughing but his head was fuzzy and disoriented from how deeply he’d slept. Michael was still tucked into his side, but was playing something on his phone. It was probably Tetris.

“Dinner in five,” Mali told them, and vanished, still sniggering.

“You passed out,” Michael said gleefully. “I _knew_ you were exhausted, you could’ve just _said_.”

Calum’s brain was still sluggish. “I wasn’t that tired.”

“Yeah, you were. You don’t have to lie.” Michael poked at Calum’s shoulder. “Come on, dinner. I’m starving.”

Calum got up and followed Michael down the stairs. His sleep fogged brain wasn’t processing much and not very quickly, but one annoying thought pinged in his brain, that he’d slept better with Michael curled up beside him than he had all week.

It wasn’t a thought he wanted to have. He didn’t know why he slept better, and he didn’t particularly want to plumb the depths of his brain to figure out that motivation. He figured that would probably end in an uncomfortable conversation at the very least, and a broken friendship at the worst.

The one thing Calum did know was that taking a closer look at this whatever it was would only cause more thinking and more trouble, and he really didn’t want to do that, at all.

For now, this was enough of a problem, and he’d quite like it to go the hell away.                                   

 

**==**

**FEBRUARY 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15

==

 

Sometimes, Michael regretted opening his mouth.

They had band practice on a sunny Tuesday, when Ashton was off work and didn't have to babysit, and Calum didn't have football, and Luke's brothers weren't home. Band practice had started with at least an attempt to learn something new, a last cover before school really started in earnest. Then it had quickly devolved into laying around and watching music videos on YouTube, and that ended up with Calum opening up a One Direction music video, and then Michael made a quip and the next thing he knew, they were making plans for a One Direction mashup cover.

Ashton, of course, thought the idea was completely brilliant and set to figuring out how best to blend the two singles. Luke leaned over Ashton’s shoulder and pointed out his own suggestions, and even Calum got really into it.

Michael thumped his head onto the couch and bemoaned his choice in friends, and let himself get dragged into arranging the song itself.

It took them two more practices to arrange the song and sort out parts and practice it, and then another two practices for Luke to be satisfied enough with it to put it on YouTube. By then, Michael was wholeheartedly into this whole One Direction thing, and was carefully not thinking too much about what that could possibly mean.

They filmed it in Luke’s basement, tucked up on the rec room couch, in the semi-dark of both early evening and the basement’s lack of windows. It came out pretty okay, after they recorded it the second time, and Ashton set about typing up a description and trying to get the video to upload properly.

It was pretty satisfying to have another video finished and ready to post, since they didn’t really have a ton of stuff with all four of them up yet. Michael flopped onto Calum’s lap and started a petty argument, just because. Luke was sitting cross-legged on the ground, his guitar flat in his lap. He was distracted, not contributing to their Very Important conversation about Dinosaurs versus Ninjas once they’d finished filming their One Direction mashup and were waiting for YouTube to process it.

“Luke, you alright?” Ashton finally asked, after Luke had missed several questions directed his way.

“I like boys,” Luke blurted out. His eyes widened but he didn’t move to take it back; instead he tensed, as if he thought they might hit him for admitting such a thing.

Michael and Calum exchanged surprised glances, but Ashton barely blinked.

“Okay, so we should write a few songs about dudes for you to sing? I don’t know if I’d be any good at it, but we can try and you can tell us if we’re shit or not. Can’t be that much different, right?”

“No, I mean, I like girls? But also boys?” Luke kept his eyes on his lap, on the guitar resting there. “I think I like people, just. In general. Thought you should know before we went anywhere else with this whole, this whole band thing.”

“We wouldn’t--” Michael started, words failing him. Luke was so, so much braver than he could be, and he was so impressed. He felt awkward and awful just standing there, and so unsure of how to react. “You could’ve said. We wouldn’t have joked like we did.”

Calum just moved to sit next to Luke and drew him into a cuddle. The tension started to drain out of Luke’s frame, reassured that he wouldn’t be kicked out of his own band.

“It’s all good,” Ashton promised. He tapped Luke on the nose with his drumstick. “We’ll be so good that no one can say anything against you ‘cos you’ll sing so awesomely.”

Luke rubbed at his eyes. Calum rested his chin on Luke’s shoulder. “Love you, Lukey,” Calum murmured.

“I don’t want anyone to know, not really,” Luke said. “But I thought you should.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Ashton promised. “Right, lads?”

Calum nodded assent, still holding tight to Luke. Michael went and plopped himself on Luke’s lap. “You’re still Luke, and you’re still the worst at Mario,” he said. “C’mon, Ashton, join the cuddle.”

Ashton leaned over and slung his arm around Michael, his knuckles brushing against Calum’s shoulder and his fingers just brushing against Luke’s cheek.

“It’s all good, Lukey,” he said, and Luke gave them a shaky smile. “Promise.”

==

“I think I might be like Luke,” Calum mumbled, when they’d dispersed home and he was puppy-piled into Michael’s bed, the two of them tangled together.

“What, you’re only just now realizing that you’ve got the same awful haircut? I’ve been telling you that for years,” Michael teased.

“No, I mean…” Calum wrapped his arms around Michael’s torso and clung tight, burying his face in between Michael’s shoulder blades. “I think I like both boys and girls. I think I’m bisexual.”

“Okay.” Michael tried to hug Calum back, as best he could with Calum behind him. “I don’t know how to be supportive. I’ll stop using fag and no homo, though. Or, well. I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” Calum said dryly. He didn’t feel like it was worth mentioning that he almost definitely had a crush on Michael, and that was how he’d figured out these new, weird feelings. Michael was a safe starter crush, really, his best friend, guaranteed to stick by him and equally guaranteed to not reciprocate. Calum could explore these feelings and not have to worry about actually confronting them, because the _idea_ of Michael was safe, so long as he didn’t say anything stupid.

“You ever kissed a boy, other than me? A boy you like?” Michael asked. Calum shook his head into Michael’s shoulder, his hair mussing against the pillows and tickling Michael’s neck. “We’ll find you and Luke boys you like to kiss.”

Calum wanted to say _I’d like to kiss you_.

He didn’t.

Instead, he rolled his eyes. “If you can’t find anyone to kiss _you_ , how are you going to find someone to kiss _me_?”

Michael pushed Calum off of him and grabbed for a pillow to beat Calum over the head with. Calum clung to Michael’s back, knowing that this was the only place Michael couldn’t really get to him.

Michael tried, twisted and squirmed, but Calum held tight. Eventually, Michael gave up and flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, crushing Calum a little bit.

“Thank you for listening,” Calum finally said when they’d settled and he was half-sure Michael was asleep. He kept his voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry, mumbled his words into the fine hairs at the nape of Michael’s neck.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Michael whispered back.

As Calum slowly drifted asleep, Michael stayed awake. His thoughts were jumbled and unorganized, uncomfortably so.

Two facets of his universe, facets he’d thought fixed and permanent, had suddenly changed on him. He hadn’t been friends with Luke long enough that a revelation like this would change everything, but Calum--Calum he was entirely shaken over. How long had Calum known he’d liked girls _and_ boys, and why hadn’t he told Michael before? Calum had sounded so sure, and their conversation had been so short, and Michael didn’t know how to react.

He knew it was Luke’s confession that had brought Calum’s to light, and if Luke hadn’t said anything, Michael knew Calum wouldn’t have, either. He hated that; he and Calum told each other pretty much everything, right down to downright disturbing descriptions of bowel movements.

Crossing and uncrossing his ankles in an attempt to get more comfortable, Michael thought of how he knew Ashton had a girlfriend he wasn’t telling them about, or at least a girl he kissed on a regular basis, how he knew from the facebook posts and aborted sentences whenever Ashton told a story. He knew Luke probably had a girlfriend somewhere too--or, judging by his confession today, maybe a boyfriend--if the sugary-sweet love songs he suggested were anything to go by. Knowing Luke, they almost definitely were. Now, with Calum’s admittance, of a secret Michael didn’t know he’d had, Michael had to wonder if Calum had a boyfriend or girlfriend he was hiding too.

Michael didn’t like being out of the loop, or feeling left behind, and both those emotions simmered unpleasantly in his gut now.

He rolled over and found a good spot that blocked out any light, on his stomach with his face buried in Calum’s chest. His nose itched, so he scratched it, and in the process, bumped Calum’s arm enough to jostle him.

Calum snuffled and threw his arm across Michael’s torso, drew him closer.

Michael tried to settle into the comforting hold, but couldn’t. His mind just kept whirring. Luke and Ashton had girlfriends, probably, and Calum had had Carly, and… well, was it so strange that Michael would rather pay attention to banding and vidya and his best friend?

He hated being left behind, though, and there was a girl he liked well enough in his maths class. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut at the thought, and decided to write it off as nervousness. Luke teased him about Geordie often enough, that was probably what it was anyways.

He’d ask her out sometime in the next week, he decided. It was worth a try, at least.

Satisfied that he now had a plan, Michael pushed aside all other, more nagging thoughts, and tried to blank his mind. With Calum burbling out hiccuping snores beside him, Michael let his mind go blank, and drifted asleep.

 

**==**

**MARCH 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15

==

 

One of the more interesting things that happened in March was that they started the process of signing to a label. Or, well, the process had actually started in January, but Ashton and Luke had been mostly exchanging cautious emails with a label and handling the whole thing without much input from Calum and Michael. Michael’s general sense of the situation was “maybe this is real, maybe it’s not, let’s be careful until we’re sure” and he knew that was how Ashton and Luke were reacting.

The long and short of it was that Ashton and Luke had been exchanging carefully worded and much worried over emails with Adam Wilkinson for over a month at this point, and now they were actually planning a meeting and possibly discussing a contract. Michael maintained that it wasn’t _actually_ the manager of Studios 301 replying to their emails, and it was probably an intern or secretary or something.

He wasn’t really sure of the actual chain of events that got them to here, to March, and actually discussing it, but he trusted his bandmates. He thought most of the enthusiasm came from Ashton, probably, who was really determined to make this work out for them. No matter how many times Luke reassured Ashton that they actually wanted him there, with heart eyes the size of Tanzania, Ashton still seemed half-convinced they weren’t going to stay a band without him.

That sort of complicated things, considering that Luke had been the defacto leader up until Ashton joined, but Ashton had been in a legit band before 5sos so had some more direction on what he wanted to accomplish than the rest of them. He was older, and presumably more mature, but also the newest to the band and therefore had both the most and the least authority to make decisions.

That ended up meaning increasingly more often, Ashton would slowly slide into the role of leader in band meetings, and then quickly back off when he realized. Luke would trail off into awkward silence and then forge forward, trying to ignore the gapingly awkward situation that everyone knew had to be addressed sooner rather than later. This whole label thing seemed to be their first real show of co-leadership.

Michael didn’t really pay attention to the exact details of how Luke and Ashton wanted to sort out the details of leadership. Whenever Ashton got that slightly manic look in his eyes, he went where Ashton pointed, learned his guitar parts and smiled for Luke’s camera.

Calum took a similar approach to their banding adventures, though his distracted obedience to Ashton’s newly tyrannical reign was more due to trying to juggle football, good grades, and banding than fear of Ashton’s terrifying goals.

Michael spent more time worrying about Calum. While labels and leadership and recording might be a little out of his depth, he was an expert on Calum and Calum’s moods.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why Calum was suddenly spacey and exhausted, but it was difficult to get Calum to actually admit something was going on. Calum’s reaction to stress tended to be “I can handle it by myself, leave me alone”. Michael’s reaction to that tended to be aggressive limpeting, which usually worked, so he went about doing that.

And that was really the long and short of it. At one of their practices, when Calum finally skidded in late and Luke had already fetched snacks from the kitchen, Ashton and Luke started explaining about this potential contract in detail.

“It’s Sony,” Ashton said. He said crosslegged on Luke’s bed; Luke was across the room on his desk chair. “So it’s a legit record label. And it’s a real, serious offer. We can’t find anything that says it might not be.”

“We don’t even have a _demo_ ,” Calum protested, wide eyed. “Or anything original.”

“We have a youtube channel with tons of material,” Luke said quietly. “Clips from the show at the Annandale. Covers we’ve put coordinated effort into.”

“And that counts as a demo?”

Ashton shrugged. “Apparently.”

Calum groaned and flopped onto his back in the middle of Luke’s rug. Michael snorted and set the bowl of popcorn on Calum’s stomach.

“So what’s the contract they want us to--sign, or whatever?”

“It’s a two-EP thing, according to the Wilkinson guy we’ve been talking with. A cover EP, and they set us up with songwriters, and an original EP in, like, a year.” Ashton picked at the coverlet, but stopped when Luke threw a pen at him. “If those do well, they’d sign us for an actual album.”

Luke chewed at the edge of his thumbnail. “Apparently there’s negotiation and stuff left to deal with, but… this is kind of a serious offer.”

Michael saw a strange look flash across Calum’s face but didn’t comment on it. “Is it just the EPs?”

“They’d help promote, I guess,” Ashton said. “They think since we’re doing so well with only Facebook and YouTube promotion, we could do a lot more with a real promo team working with us, or something.”

“We’ve gotta tell our parents,” Michael said. “And figure that out.”

Luke nodded solemnly, as did Ashton. Calum just groaned and flung his arm across his face. “Mali’s going to kill me for getting a recording contract first,” he said. He rolled over, and unfortunately, spilled popcorn across Michael’s lap.

Telling their parents was a confusing few hours, backed by emails and printouts and proof that they’d done their research, but in the end they sorted it out so that Calum and Luke’s mums would come with them to meet Adam Wilkinson at the studios the following Saturday. It seemed like a good solution--both mums wouldn’t let their sons be taken advantage of--and it should have been, except Luke managed to concuss himself the day before their meeting. So, instead of coming to the meeting, Luke and Liz stayed home, making sure Luke didn’t give himself further brain damage.

So it ended up being the three of them and Calum’s mum, and somehow that just made the whole thing more surreal.

If you asked Michael ater, he wouldn’t remember much of the meeting, only snippets of conversation. It turned out that Adam Wilkinson actually _was_ the head of the studio, which made his interest in them all the stranger.

All the meeting really did was make Michael relatively confused. Ashton and Joy seemed to understand what was going on, so he just listened and went where they pointed.

That meeting must’ve gone well because Wilkinson actually came to Luke’s house to talk with Liz Hemmings a week later. It wasn’t a random thing, Luke found out later, but it had been planned, though 5sos hadn’t been informed.

Ashton, Michael and Calum were all there for band practice, which was probably why Liz had suggested Wilkinson drop by that day at that particular time. It wasn’t really band _practice_ so much as a band _argument_ about what they wanted to cover next. Ashton had to leave within the next half hour to get to work on time anyways, so none of them had bothered to bring any of their instruments over to Luke’s that day anyways.

Their bickering had devolved into Ashton throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at Michael, with Calum and Luke poring over their science lab, due the next day, something to do with chemistry.

When the door rang, Luke went to answer it and froze in horror when his mom got there first and he realized who was at the door.

“You must be Adam Wilkinson,” Liz said, shaking his hand, all trustworthy maths teacher. Her smile, though, was the sort of smile Luke associated with vegetarian meatloaf night and three week groundings. “Come on in.”

Luke looked over his shoulder to see Calum and Michael huddling at the top of the stairs. While Liz’s expression was somewhere near protective sadism, Luke’s was distinctly closer to total horror. If Calum had to guess, his own expression was probably pretty similar.

Liz ushered Wilkinson into the kitchen, where two mugs of tea were steeping on the kitchen table. She made small talk and gently shooed Ben away from the fridge and out the kitchen door, through the cluster of boys hovering at the doorway.

Wilkinson took a seat at the table and carefully stirred milk into his tea. Liz smiled and made small talk, and sat at the table herself.

“My son is fifteen years old,” Liz said, still smiling. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “Why the hell should I sign a contract letting you determine his work hours?”

Wilkinson was either spectacularly brave or incredibly stupid, since he didn’t flinch. “I’d work with them rather than order specific hours. It’s not exactly a nine to five career.”

Liz raised an eyebrow. “You’re the manager of the largest studio complex in the southern hemisphere, and you want to manage a group of four teenage boys, three of whom aren’t legal adults yet, when they haven’t ever written an original song on their own, much less recorded or released anything that isn’t a cover.”

Wilkinson opened his mouth to speak, but Liz cut him off with a stern glance.

“They’ve played a few house parties--I’m not supposed to know about that, but I do,” she said, flicking another stern glance towards the four boys hovering in the kitchen doorway. Luke flinched. “And if you discovered them at one of those parties, we’ll be having a conversation about what you’re doing frequenting parties with fifteen year olds in attendance.”

“I make a point of looking up every artist coming in to record at Studios 301 that I don’t know personally,” Wilkinson said seriously. “I’ve seen their youtube videos. They’ve got raw talent. It needs direction, but it’s talent.”

Liz nodded. “And why you in particular? Why take a personal interest, rather than pass them off to a management agency?”

Wilkinson shrugged. “I’m young enough to think it could actually work and experienced enough to actually make it so.” He took a sip of tea. “And because I think it really will be something big, this band.”

Liz turned and shot the boys a look strong enough to send them scurrying. That kind of look was either really good or really bad, and none of them could figure out what it meant. Fifteen minutes later, Liz and Wilkinson hadn’t yet emerged from the kitchen and Ashton had to leave for work.

“Text me how it goes,” he told Calum. “Call if we need to bury Wilkinson’s body.”

Luke looked like he was about to have a heart attack at that suggestion. Ashton just ruffled his hair affectionately and left.

Another hour passed. Calum and Luke abandoned their chem project and got working on figuring out chords for their next cover, an Ed Sheeran one. Michael just bemoaned their fate, sprawled out on Luke’s bed.

Luke looked increasingly like he wanted to throw himself out the window with each passing minute. His brothers traipsing by to offer their two cents’ worth of advice did nothing to lessen any of their worries.

Finally, Luke heard his mum calling his name up the stairs, and bolted for the kitchen. Calum and Michael weren’t far behind.

There was a beat of silence, Liz standing in the kitchen doorway and the three boys staring her down, hoping for the best.

“Alright,” Liz said finally, looking between them in the hall and Adam Wilkinson in the kitchen. “Alright, I think it’s a good idea.” Immediately, she was tackled into a overjoyed group hug from Luke and Calum. Michael hung back a bit but was dragged into the fray by Calum.

When the pile finally dissolved, Wilkinson dug into his bag.

“I’ll leave these here,” he said, setting a pile of brightly colored folders on the table. “Look over them with your parents, whoever you want, just don’t publicise them. We can set up a meeting in like a week to discuss any last minute changes and sign them.”

Of course, it wasn’t so simple as that. After a week of debate with their parents (and Michael’s mum going over every inch of the legal code), they signed the contracts with a few modifications (Michael didn’t know exactly what they were, but both his mum and Luke’s insisted they were super important and Ashton had nodded gravely so he’d just gone with it and made sure the same clause found its way into his and Calum’s contracts) and set up to record their first EP the next weekend.

Which should have been perfect, if it weren’t for the fact that the cold from hell struck pretty much all of Norwest, including Calum, Luke, and Michael three days before they were due to record. Those three days were filled with cold medication and soup and snotty tissues, with Ashton laughing at all of them.

Naturally, the day of recording, Ashton came down with it as well, so all four of them were sniffling and trying not to crack their voices while singing their respective parts.

Despite the illness, Michael was in awe. The recording studio was both bigger and smaller than he’d been expecting. It was a bigger room than he’d thought but it was crammed full of equipment and instruments that made the actual space for them to move around a lot smaller than he’d anticipated. There were more colourful buttons and switches than he knew what to think of, and he wanted to push them _all_.

Calum dropped heavily into Michael’s lap while Ashton was recording drums and Luke was taking notes on the sound engineer’s procedure.

“You’re making everyone nervous,” Calum said, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Calm down.”

“They’re just so colourful,” Michael whined.  He sniffled. “Can’t I just—“

“No.”

“Can I ask what—“

“No.”

“But they’re so pretty—“

“No, Mikey.”

Finally, Michael slumped down and let Calum finger-comb his hair soothingly. “ _Fine_.”

“You’re doing guitar with Luke next,” Calum reminded him. “Maybe you should practice.”

“If I practice and then record for two hours, my fingers will start bleeding and I’ll die,” Michael grumbled. “Same for you.”

“This is true.” Calum let Michael rest his head on his shoulder. “Nervous?”

“Just a little.”

Calum jostled Michael a little, settling in more comfortably. “Take a nap. I’ll be your pillow.”

Michael grumbled and sniffled but otherwise didn’t move far.

Recording finally finished late that evening, and they went home, tired and sick, but with an EP recorded. Tired as he was, Calum was ready to count that as a success.

 

**==**

**APRIL 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15

==

 

So Calum may have let a few petty things slide when banding became a priority. Like, he might’ve forgotten to do a few homework assignments and maybe he totally bombed a test, but it wasn’t like he was failing anything.

Okay. He might’ve been failing French. And Maths. But other than that he was mostly okay.

Calum’s mum was _furious_ when she found out how low Calum’s grades had gotten. She yelled for a while, and Calum’s dad yelled for a while and the end result was that Calum was grounded from TV and computer for a month, and he was banned from banding until his grades improved.

Probably most effectively, Michael wasn’t allowed to come over until Calum’s grades improved.

It was bizarre, not having Michael over all the time. Calum hadn’t realized how much Michael was involved in his life until he couldn’t have Michael over daily. There was one less plate on the table for dinner and Calum’s room felt emptier. It hadn’t been like this since they were seven and Michael had spent two afternoons a week at Calum’s until his mum got off work. Two afternoons had turned into three, and then into regular weekends, and then Michael had been there almost every day for _years_ now.

Instead of playing music and vaguely trying to keep Michael in line, Calum spent afternoons dreading footie practice, something he’d never ever done before. A very angry Joy Hood wielding a wooden spoon had banished Michael from attending Calum’s games. Even though she had been quite angry, she’d sent Michael off with a week’s worth of prepared food in neatly labelled Tupperware containers so he wouldn’t starve during Calum’s punishment.

Calum also spent the whole grounding studying as hard as he knew how, in the hopes that his grounding would be lifted sooner rather than later. He had a month of footie and school and minimal Michael and no banding, and he _hated_ it.

A week in, he’d not only caught up on his work but completed an essay that wasn’t due for another week, and was staring down a weekend of complete and utter boredom.

Hypothetically, he could do what Michael had been suggesting and break out, but Calum didn’t really want to exacerbate the situation if he didn’t have to. So, he formulated an argument and went to face his mother.

“Mum?” he tried hesitantly. Joy didn’t turn around.

“Hm?”

“I finished all my homework. Can I go see Michael?”

“What part of grounded don’t you get?” she asked, setting her knife down and turning to face him. “Once your marks are up. They’re not up yet, so if you’re done with your homework, go study. Review your verbs for French. Memorize the periodic table. Keep revising.”

Calum pouted and slouched out of the kitchen.

Back in his room, he didn’t open any of his textbooks again. Instead, he slid his guitar case out from under his bed, and gently set himself up on his bedroom floor.

In the past few months, he’d scribbled a few lyrics to a potential song, about needing to get out of his head, to escape all of this chaos. Now, with the extra time he had, being grounded from banding, he had time to actually work with that potential song, to try to make it more of a coherent whole.

He had an hour before dinner, and he spent that hour picking at these lyrics, trying to find a suitable melody and the best way to make the song work as a whole. He’d probably have to talk to Ashton on how to write the drum parts, but it was working just fine with his voice and his guitar so far.

The draft he came up with he was actually pretty satisfied with. He left the copy on his desk to remind him to show Luke or Ashton, and went down for dinner.

The next couple of weeks passed much the same as he eeked his marks back up to a level his parents approved of. He kept grinding at what he’d decided should be called “Gotta Get Out” and picked out a suitable guitar and bass melody for it. He also picked out a few melodies to be saved for later.

When he finally got his grades up, when everything was finally back to normal, he spent three whole days at Michael’s house.

Luke spent the night one of those days, and Ashton another. It was good and fun, and made Calum realize he didn’t _really_ want to give up banding, no matter how crazy his schedule got.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so he filed it away for later consideration and just enjoyed the company of his friends.

==

_feel like cutting class?_

Calum stared at his phone, weighing the pros and cons of answering Ashton in the affirmative. On the one hand, he’d only just gotten his grades up enough that he could even be in the band without sneaking behind his parent’s back, but on the other, he really didn’t want to sit through Mr Baldwin’s lecture on World War I, either.

He figured he’d do whatever Michael and Luke ended up doing. Michael would definitely be in favor of going, but Luke was more hesitant when it came to cutting school. Calum chalked that up to Luke being the son of a teacher, probably.

Michael pushed at Luke for all of Music, pestering him until even the teacher noticed that something in particular had caught Michael's fancy. Finally, Luke caved, and Michael texted Ashton in triumph. When it actually came time to leave, though, Luke's surety dissolved.

“Come on,” Michael coaxed, when Luke balked before the doors to the parking lot. Calum had already slung his bag over his shoulder and loosened his tie. Luke looked unsure but slowly followed Michael out the door and towards the parking lot.

Ashton was waiting, leaning against his car. “My band!” he cried, gesticulating dramatically. “How I have pined in your absence!”

“You're a pine and I'm a fir,” Michael said sharply, but he was grinning. He dropped his book bag onto the pavement and started unknotting his uniform tie. “Where are we going on this grand adventure of yours?”

“I thought we could go to the beach,” Ashton said, taking Luke’s book bag from him. Probably a smart idea to have a hostage, Calum thought, since it looked like Luke was considering bolting back into the school and apologizing to the first teacher he saw, and every teacher he ran into thereafter right up until he ended confessing to the headmaster. “I’m a bit sick of school and it’s almost too cold to go after this, but today was so nice so I thought: why not?”

Calum beamed and shucked his uniform jacket. “Let’s go,” he said.

Luke didn’t look convinced, but he settled into the front seat when Ashton gave him a questioning look. It wasn’t until they were off school grounds that Luke remembered that Ashton didn’t technically have even his probationary license and had a minor meltdown, but by then it was too late to turn around.

Surprisingly enough, it was _Calum_ who ended up being a stick in the mud. Once Luke got used to the concept of skipping class, he treated the whole thing like an adventure, and Michael was always up for something that got him out of school.

Calum was quiet and distant, even when Ashton tried to draw him into conversation when Luke and Michael took off to wade into the ocean.

“You okay?” Ashton said finally, tapping Calum on the shoulder.

“Hm?” Calum looked up from where he was sitting on one of the ancient towels Ashton had dug out of the boot.

“You okay? You’ve been really spacey,” Ashton said, and started pouring sand from hand to hand.

“Yeah, I guess. Lots to think about.”

“Football and banding?”

“For starters.” Calum rolled his eyes and focused on fidgeting with his watch.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not trying to make me go one way or the other?”

“Nah. You’ve got enough people telling you what to do. You’ll figure it out on your own.”

Calum shrugged and watched the waves roll in and out.

“Decision making sucks enough without other people telling you what to think,” Ashton said after a minute of quiet had passed with only the distant shrieks of Michael chasing Luke down the beach in the distance. “You’ll make the right decision.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Ashton gave Calum a long considering look. “You want me to leave you alone?”

Calum paused and considered that. “No. Stay, please?”

“’Course. Promise you’ll try to have fun?”

“I never make promises I can’t keep,” Calum said. Ashton let the sand drain between his fingers. “What’s the going rate that Mikey found an elderly couple to terrorize and Luke’s attempting damage control?”

“You never make promises you can’t keep, I never make bets I’m guaranteed to lose,” Ashton said. “Should we go find them?”

“Nah, they’ll come back eventually.”

Ashton snorted. “So, what’ve you been up to, other than the existential crisis of banding and friends versus family and football?”

Calum shrugged. “I wrote a song.”

“That’s fantastic!” Ashton enthused. “Can I see it?”

“I don’t have it _with_ me.”

“Still!” Ashton drew a smiley face in the sand, followed by a line of exclamation points. Calum thought that was a bit excessive. “Do you remember any of it off the top of your head?”

Calum shook his head but hummed a few lines. Ashton nodded as he listened, and once Calum had finished, echoed it back to him perfectly.

“Oh, we’ve got to go to your house and work on it, after this,” Ashton said. Calum could practically feel the warmth of Ashton’s smile on his own face, and couldn’t help but smile himself. “This is going to be great.”

When Ashton grinned like that, Calum wouldn’t help but agree.

 

**==**

**MAY 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15

==

 

 

May seemed destined to make Calum’s head explode. A lot of good, fun things happened, but so did a lot of stressful, not-so-good things happened too.

Adam arranged for them to do a miniature tour of the East Coast, with a lot of meet and greets. That and the couple of days they spent writing with Amy Meredith were absolutely amazing.

On the flip side, Calum had his recent banding ban still fresh in his mind and a footie tournament coming up on the same weekend that they were supposed to be recording Gotta Get Out, and that was about when he decided _something_ had to give.

His room started to get cluttered, and that just made him more frustrated. He was a teenage boy, he was best friends with Michael and Luke, so he wasn’t exactly a stranger to mess, but it was just one more thing he wasn’t in control of.

So, at two am on a Wednesday night, surrounded by mess, he got up and started cleaning. There was something reassuring about taking control of his environment; it was infinitely satisfying to ball up his dirty shirts strewn across the floor and toss them into his laundry basket and watching his desk reappear from under the clutter. He shelved all of his textbook and put his phone and DS on the chargers, and sorted away all his papers, then tackled the pile of footie gear in the corner.

He dug under his bed when the floor was clear, confronted the mess there, and pulled out an unfamiliar plastic-wrapped package.

Calum froze when he saw what it was: a package of women’s underwear, completely unopened. He started at it uncomprehending for a good thirty seconds. Then he remembered he’d found it in one of the bags of new underwear and socks his mum had left on his bed at the beginning of the school year. It had almost certainly been meant for Mali--it definitely hadn’t been for him, and if it were meant for his mum, she’d have noticed it wasn’t in her laundry pile by now--and he’d set it aside with the intention of giving it back to Mali later. He’d kept forgetting, and it must’ve gotten kicked under his bed in the chaos of the past few months and subsequently forgotten.

He stared at them, and then had the awful thought of _I wonder what it’d be like to wear them._

Wearing women’s underwear made him kind of...gay, didn’t it? And he wasn’t. Except he kind of halfway was, by liking both boys and girls. Did bisexual men wear women’s underwear, or did that make them kind of totally gay? He figured that was probably something for boys who liked boys most of the time and girls only part of the time, and he was pretty even on liking them both. Usually he thought he liked girls more, anyways. So really, he should just seal the package back up and give it to Mali-Koa in the morning and pretend the thought had never crossed his mind, because footie players and boys who liked girls most of the time didn’t wear women’s underwear.

Except. Well. They were really nice colors, shades of blue and green you just didn’t ever get boxers in, and they looked soft. They _were_ soft, when he skimmed a finger over the fabric.

Shuddering a little, Calum shoved the package back under the bed and turned out the light.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting up and fishing the package back out. Clothes didn’t make you gay, he thought stubbornly, and pulled at the plastic, properly tearing it open. In fact, it would just prove how not fully gay he was, that he didn’t worry what people would think if he wore them.

He thought vaguely of the shirt one of Luke’s brother’s wore: _real men wear pink_ emblazoned across the front, in bold black type on a baby pink t-shirt.

Real men wear ladies’ underwear, he thought, a little hysterically. He tugged out a pair and slid them up his legs, completely forgetting he was wearing boxers, and then slid the whole mess off to detangle the knickers from his boxers. He put them on again in a better order, knickers underneath the boxers this time, and crawled back in bed.

There, he thought, satisfied. That’s to prove a point.

Calum slept more soundly that night than he had any other night that week; in fact, he slept so soundly that he missed his alarm and had to rush through getting ready in the morning. It wasn’t until he was halfway to school that he realized he still had the knickers on underneath his boxers and uniform pants.

A little thrill ran down his spine for the first few classes whenever he thought about it; he had a secret that no one else knew, something that was, for once, entirely his. Discomfort set in, though, when he remembered he’d have to change for sports.

He sat out of phys ed that day, claiming he’d forgotten his uniform at home and had a headache besides; Coach sent him to the school clinic and ordered him to skip footie practice that day if he wasn’t feeling well.

Michael glared at him suspiciously the whole time Calum made his excuses to Coach, and stared in horror when, instead of heading for the locker room to change into uniform, he started off for the nurse’s office.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, when he and Luke showed up to lunch after phys ed. “You _never_ miss running days.”

Calum made a face, all too conscious of the soft lace lying close to his skin. “Didn’t feel all that great,” he managed.

Luke made a clucking noise and pressed a dry palm to Calum’s forehead. “You sick?”

Calum shrugged helplessly, feeling like Michael was going to call him out any second, like he was going to catch a glimpse of the soft blue underneath his boxers even though Calum’s uniform shirt was tucked in and the only way for that to happen would be if Michael pantsed him, right here, in the middle of lunch. As much of a shit Michael could be, he wouldn’t go that far.

“Don’t get me sick,” Michael said finally. He still looked a little suspicious.

Calum offered him what he hoped was an innocent smile. Thankfully, Luke and Michael dropped the topic entirely, probably because they didn’t see why Calum would lie about a thing like that.

When he got home that afternoon he made some inane excuse to his mum about why he wasn’t at practice, then bolted for his bedroom and firmly shut the door. It didn’t lock, so it wouldn’t really keep anyone out, but hopefully his family would respect his privacy. Or, at the very least, it would give him an extra second to react.

He carefully shucked his uniform trousers and boxers, and sucked in a breath at the sight of the knickers. When he’d put them on, he hadn’t expected to wear them all day, and...well, he hadn’t expected to _like_  them as much as he did, even given the his fear that someone might catch a glimpse.

Hearing Mali-Koa thumping around downstairs was his cue to change out of them and back into his boxers and layer loose basketball shorts over the top; he’d only just barely managed to kick the knickers under his bed when Mal-Koa barged in.

“Mum says you’ve got pneumonia,” she announced, and cackled upon seeing him half changed in shorts and his uniform shirt.

“Get _out_ ,” Calum shrieked. He threw a pillow at her, trying to disguise the fact that his heart was jack-rabbiting. If she’d been ten seconds earlier…

“Doesn’t look like pneumonia,” she sang. She barely caught the pillow and leaned in the doorway. “Is someone _skiving_?”

“Feels more like a stomach bug,” Calum retorted. He pretended to gag. “Might throw up on you if you stick around.”

Mali cackled again and threw the pillow back at him. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Calum to change his shirt and collapse gratefully onto his bed.

Today had been weird. Weird and uncomfortable. He hadn’t liked the feeling that, at any time, someone might be able to guess what he was doing, that some might be able to look at him and _know_ , somehow, that he wasn’t doing what football players were supposed to be doing.

But he _had_ liked the softness and how he’d felt like he looked good all day. As much as he’d felt sick to his stomach over someone maybe seeing, he’d felt exhilarated too, like they were armor laid tight against his skin.

He rolled over onto his stomach and fished the package out from under the bed so he could stare at it in actual daylight.

He startled at the name on the label: they were called boyshorts, apparently. The picture on the package was definitely a girl, though, so his mum hadn’t bought him feminine underwear for men. The thought made him giggle a little hysterically. Mum would probably have a heart attack if she found out about any of this.

Despite the anxiety he’d felt all day, he wanted to wear them again. They felt good, and not much felt good with no catches recently. Everything required thinking and overthinking, and decisions and prioritization, and--he just wanted something that was nice and pleasant and thoughtless. And--well. If he was careful, no one would have to know, would they?

He shoved the package back under the bed after counting how many he had. Six, including the one he’d already worn, so they’d have to be for days when he really needed a pickup, since he wasn’t sure how often he could get away with washing them, or if he could even get away with washing them at all. It wasn’t like he could just throw them in his laundry hamper for Mum to get.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, his mum was knocking on his door and checking his temperature, clucking over him. It was quickly decided that it must be some sort of bug, and he was ordered to try to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

Calum enjoyed the peaceful quiet and slept easily. The next few weeks wouldn’t be nearly so kind as to let him nap afternoons away.

He struggled through two weeks and decided that Tuesday was his worst day. By the time he got there, he was worn out from the whole week that had come before--from footie practice on Thursday afternoons and late sleepovers with Michael on Fridays, band stuff on Saturdays, and footie matches on Sundays. Monday afternoons were football practices again, running drills, and by the time he got to band practice late Tuesday evening, running in straight from another football practice, he was just ready for Wednesday to start, his only day off from the chaos.

It hadn’t taken long for Calum to decide that Tuesday, with its hellish level of stress, was the day he would wear the knickers under his uniform. Of course, that meant when his mum dropped him off at Ashton’s after footie practice and he was still wearing his sweat-dampened jersey and shorts, he had his knickers on underneath.

“Just change here,” Michael said, when Calum scrabbled through his bag for clean clothes and gave them an uncomfortable look. Calum shook his head and darted into the bathroom. When he emerged, even Luke looked confused: of the four of them, Luke had the most issues with changing in front of people, and it wasn’t like _he’d_ ducked away to change somewhere else.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Ashton said. Calum rolled his eyes and scooped up his bass and started double checking the tuning. Practice slowly got underway, tense from both Calum’s mood and everyone else’s unwillingness to piss him off further.

Unfortunately, that fell apart when Luke nitpicked at Calum’s technique. Calum shouted at Luke, and then at Ashton when he tried to intervene, and then back at Luke again.

“Leave me _alone_ ,” Calum snapped, and added in a few insults that made Luke recoil. Calum retreated to the corner while Luke paled and sat frozen with horrified shock writ large on his face.

Ashton hissed under his breath and dropped his drumsticks. He made several aborted moves, first towards Calum, then Luke, then Calum again, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to shout at Calum or comfort Luke.

Michael made the decision for him, setting his guitar down and crossing the room to crouch by Calum, who had slumped down and curled up small.

“What’s going on, Cal?” he asked quietly, settling himself in for a long wait. When Calum got upset, he got angry and stubborn. Getting answers out of him was going to be a process.

“Nothing,” Calum bit out.

Michael sighed and leaned forward into Calum’s personal space, letting his hands rest on Calum’s knees and bracing his forehead against Calum’s. Behind them, he could hear Ashton talking to Luke in hushed whispers.

“Come on, it’s obviously something,” Michael retorted, holding Calum’s gaze steadily. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Calum snorted and looked down at his lap. Michael waited patiently, glad Calum hadn’t tried to make a break for it yet. He rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles across the worn denim of Calum’s jeans. It took a while for Calum to cave--though it couldn’t have actually been longer than five or ten minutes, it felt immeasurably longer--and when he did, he sighed shakily.

“Sorry.” Calum’s voice wavered in discomfort.

“Not me you need to say sorry to,” Michael told him, matter of fact. “Seriously, though, what’s up with you these past few weeks? You’ve been acting--weird.”

Calum’s shoulders jerked in an angry, helpless shrug. “Just stressed,” he said. His eyes flickered down to his lap and then back up to meet Michael’s gaze. “Bad week.”

“Well, take it out on me next time. Luke’ll just end up crying to Ashton.” Michael stood and stretched languidly. “Come on, ready to finish practice?”

Calum grumbled a bit but got up; he apologized to Luke, albeit halfheartedly, and then spent the rest of practice practically glued to Michael’s side.

Ashton kept giving Michael significant looks, which he soundly ignored; Calum saw them and wondered but didn’t bother asking, too tense.

Something had to give, eventually, but Calum just wasn’t sure what he was ready to let go of yet.

 

**==**

**JUNE 2012** \--Ashton 17, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15

==

 

Ashton finally got his provisional license in June, which meant they could now do band things without relying entirely on their parents and Adam for transportation. There were negotiations ahead of them for use of the car, but this simplified things and also kept Luke from panicking over Ashton driving them places illegally.

With curfew restrictions, Ashton technically wasn’t allowed to have all four of them in the car after their gigs, but Ashton convinced them that as long as he was careful it should be fine. Not having his Ps hadn’t stopped him from driving them around before, and hell, it wasn’t really stopping Michael or Calum from starting to clock in their required hours.

In fact, Ashton drove them to their first big interview on Sunrise. All four of them had slept at Ashton’s house, and now in the pre-dawn hours they made their way downtown to the Sunrise studio. Luke curled into Michael in the backseat, sleeping as comfortably in against Michael’s shoulder as he did in his own bed; Michael dozed against the window. Calum stared at the road, not really seeing it.

“Tired?” Ashton asked. Calum was so tired that his eyes were blurring but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Nervous,” he replied. Ashton half-smiled, as if he understood exactly. It took them another ten minutes to arrive at the studio, where Adam was already waiting, talking into his phone at someone despite the fact that it was _four in the goddamn morning_.

Adam hung up and walked them in, introduced them to people, and then dropped them off in what he called the green room (even though it clearly wasn’t green) before hurrying off somewhere else. As the crew bustled around him, clearly used to the ridiculously early hour, Calum nodded off in the makeup chair. He woke up with a woman cooing over him.

“Teenagers really do sleep anywhere,” she said, and introduced herself as Kate, the woman who’d do his makeup for cameras. He squirmed a little uncomfortably but let her cake powder after powder onto his face. While she did something ticklish to his cheekbones, she tsked about early mornings and teenagers. Calum let her talk, figuring it was better that he held still for this. When she was done, Calum’s face physically felt heavier.

“You can go back to sleep now,” she told him as she put everything back in her kit. “You won’t be called for another half-hour, and I‘ve got to do your other boys. You were just holding still long enough I thought you’d be easier to do first.”

The interview itself was surreal, so he mostly let Luke and Ashton do the talking. After, they went out for breakfast with Adam and talked about their EP release, and then split up to go home.

Calum wandered into his room, yawning, and decided that he’d really, really like to go back to sleep now. He started changing out of his clothes, having worn his last pair of knickers today for some degree of reassurance as they got interviewed on _live TV_. He’d have to figure out a way to either wash them or get more, somehow. Maybe if he started doing his own laundry he could sneak them in? Or he could try washing them by hand in the bathroom, except hanging them up to dry could be tricky. Lost in thought, Calum didn’t react as fast as he probably should have.

“Coming in,” Mali sang as she shoved open the door. Calum was caught in a tangle of skinny jeans and and yelped as he toppled over.

Mali responded a second later with a yelp of her own when she realized that the soft pink lace Calum was wearing was _definitely_ not his boxers.

There was a split second of almost tangible _oh god how do I react_ from both of them. Mali settled it by backing out of the room. “I’ll let you get finished changing.”

A minute later, she came back and sat on his bed. “So. Did I see what I thought I saw?”

Calum flushed and drew his knees up. “Yeah.”

“Is it--is it…” Mali trailed off, trying to figure out her reaction. “Are you doing in it on a dare? Did you lose a bet with Michael again?”

He hid his face so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “No.”

“Where’d you even get them?”

Calum ducked his head. “You know how mum gives us new socks and underwear and stuff at the beginning of the year? One of your packs ended up in my bag, and. I never gave them back.”

Mali frowned. “I don’t remember that, but Mum always buys a ton of stuff. I probably just didn’t notice. She got the wrong kind this year anyways, so I never wore them. I don’t really like boyshorts.”

Calum felt a little horrified that something he’d agonized over hadn’t even affect her. She’d never noticed the misplaced underwear, and here he was trying to find a way to get more without humiliating himself.

Mali-Koa sat on the bed next to him. “Do you _like_ wearing them?”

Calum shrugged helplessly, face burning with embarrassment. “I mean...yeah, sort of?”

“So that’s settled then,” Mali said. “You can have the rest of that batch, since they’re still in the packaging.” She grinned, elbowed him. He stared at her in shock. “If it makes you feel good, do it.”

“This is so weird,” Calum groaned. He buried his face in his hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“You’d better believe it’s happening,” Mali-Koa told him. She was grinning widely. “You’re in a band that’s recorded an EP and is booked to do a tour--a small one, yeah, but a tour still--and you wear panties sometimes. Better shut up and believe it, or your panty supplier is going to rescind her offer.”

“Maybe I want you to rescind your offer,” Calum groused. “Maybe I want to go back to boxers and footie and school.”

“No, you don’t.” Mali’s expression turned serious. She pulled Calum into a hug. “I’m going to chop off all my hair.”

“You are _not_.”

“Am so,” she said smugly. “I’m going to chop it all off and streak it blond and then I’m going to finish university and move to London and Mum is going to _die_.”

“So what’ll kill her first, her daughter’s hair or her son in women’s underwear?”

“Did you want to tell her?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not without your permission.” Mali-Koa kissed his forehead. “That’s yours to tell.”

Calum glanced at the drawer where he’d stashed the panties, hidden behind his clean socks. “I don’t think she’d want to know.”

“Then it’s our secret.” She sighed. “I owe you a secret now.”

“No, you don’t. Thanks, Mali.”

“I’m going to think of the best secret. And no problem, Cal-E.” Calum stuck his tongue out at the nickname, and Mali-Koa immediately returned the gesture. “So, which do you think you’re going to do?”

“What?”

“Football or the band?”

Calum shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea.”

“Look,” Mali-Koa said. “You’ve got two options, right? You’re good at footie, you’re good at--what do you guys call it? Banding? You’re good at banding. So, which one do you want more?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Calum said, and pressed his forehead against her shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look at her earnest expression. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ve dabbled in songwriting.” Mali brought a hand up to pet through Calum’s hair, gentle and soft. “And you’ve got a good voice. But you’re also killer at football.”

“That doesn’t _help_ ,” Calum groaned.

“I can’t make the choice for you!” Mali said, and fell quiet for awhile. “I mean. What do you want?”

“That’s the whole point, I don’t _know_.”

“Well, whatever you choose, I’ll back you up with mum and dad. Like, if you choose to be a professional lingerie model, it might be weird, but I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Calum said dryly, and tried to push her off the bed. “You can stop being supportive now.”

“Oh, but I’ve got so many witticisms,” she deadpanned, and beamed at him. “I’m going to be the most supportive big sister _ever_.”

“I _just_ told you not to do that.”

Mali just chucked him on the forehead and wandered out of the room, shooting him a sunny smile. Half an hour later, she came back and dropped a book on his bed.

“ _Poetic Structure: a study of how poems are constructed_ ,” Calum read off the cover. “What?”

“To help you with songwriting,” she said. “Still working on that decision? You’ve been angsting for hours.”

“Are you going to lecture me on _poetry_ now? Because I’m not ditching banding or footie to become a poet.”

Mali shoved at him. “No. Or. Well, I could.”

“Please don’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I won’t. Anyways, we were analyzing Death Cab for Cutie in my poetry class and I thought--Calum would like this. So. Also, Robert Frost.”

“Robert Frost?”

“ _Two roads diverged in a yellow wood_ ,” Mali-Koa recited, dropping a printout on the bed next to the book. “ _And sorry I could not travel both/And be one traveller, long I stood/And looked down as far as one could/To where it bent in the undergrowth._ You should read it.”

“So?”

“ _So_? Lotta football players out there, on big, noisy teams. It’d certainly be easier. But how many people start a band and make it?”

Calum grumbled up at her, and she just laughed. “Read it. And keep thinking.”

In the end, a lot of things contributed to Calum’s decision, but he thought the whole thing probably started with his month-long grounding over his grades and ended with Mali’s support about the whole thing. Somewhere in between was the fact that their shitty cover EP--recorded in four hours, when all four of them were sickly--landed top twenty spots in both Australia and New Zealand, and, for whatever reason, managed to chart in Sweden.

He drew up lists, compared reasons, and after several long, sleepless nights, made his choice.

Quitting footie was harder than it had any reason to be. He’d keep playing at school, so he’d only have practice two days a week and a game once a week. It would be less competitive and less intense, involve less travel, and leave more time for banding. He had to keep playing at school anyways, for his sport scholarship, but he resigned from his extra competition team.

It was harder than he’d expected. Coach didn’t want to let him go, since finding a competent replacement midfielder this late in the season wasn’t going to be easy, and beyond that his parents weren’t pleased with his decision, either.

“You sure you want to do this, Hood?” Coach asked, staring at the neatly folded uniform Calum was holding out. “You’re one of the best players we’ve got, they’re considering you for the Australian Youth Team, and that’s just a step to an EPL team, or the World Cup team.”

“Not like Australia has a shot at the World Cup,” Calum said dryly. “But…yeah. I want to resign.”

“It’s not your grades again, is it?”

“No, not my grades.” Calum shrugged helplessly. “It’s…it’s the whole band, thing.”

“Ah. The band thing.” Coach had a resigned expression on his face, as if he’d known this was coming. “Well. Good luck with that, yeah?”

“Thanks, Coach.” Calum shuffled awkwardly and tried to give Coach the uniform back.

Coach clapped Calum on the shoulder. “Well, then. I guess you’re off. Keep in touch, will ya? And come scrimmage with us when you can. Someone’ll have to train your replacement.” He waved off Calum trying to return the uniform too. “Keep that, as a souvenir or some shit like that. You’ve certainly earned it, and it’s not like anyone else can use it, what with your name on the back and your Michael’s scribbles on the inside.”

Calum cried once it was over, once he got home. Mali tried to talk to him, but he screamed at her to leave him alone. He kept the door shut, the lights off and the curtains drawn, and tried not to feel too humiliated. At first he was angry, with himself and with the world, and pushed things off the shelf and hurled them across the room. Soon, though, the energy drained out of him and he collapsed onto the bed in tears. He clutched a pillow to his chest and tried to muffle his sobs.

Calum could hear muffled voices outside his door, hushed and worried. His father’s voice kept rising in volume, and his mother hushing his father, and Mali chipping in her worried opinion.

He didn’t know how long it was until someone else opened the door and ventured into his sanctuary.

“Go away,” Calum croaked out, his voice rough from crying.

Someone lifted the doona and slid in next to him. They wrapped their arms around his middle and kissed the back of Calum’s head, and he knew it was Michael.

“Wanna talk?” He shifted so he was pressed more closely to Calum’s back in a proper spoon. “I’m here to talk, if you want.”

“I don’t, not really,” Calum mumbled, and hated how much better he felt now that Michael was here.

“Okay,” Michael said easily. “We can talk about something else. Like how Luke tripped over his own feet and Mrs Mathius in Phys Ed today.”

Calum sniffled and rubbed his eyes. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, probably not entirely related to Luke’s award gangliness. “He _didn’t_.”

“Completely and totally did.”

Calum rolled over and faced Michael, trying to suppress the hysteria rising in his chest. It was easy to break down again and to let Michael soothe him as best he could. Calum buried his face in the crook of Michael’s neck and cried, and let Michael murmur worriedly.

He cried for a lot of great humiliating reasons, for the fact that he’d just given up something he couldn’t remember not wanting, and he had no reason to think the band would succeed enough to bring him out the other side. He cried for disappointing his parents and himself, for not being able to verbalize how _relieved_ he was that he’d chosen the band over footie, and he cried over how ashamed he was of being relieved. He cried for the thought that he might have made the wrong choice and probably blubbered something to that effect all over Michael’s shirt.

Michael let him cry, let him grieve, and kept him close.

Eventually Calum cried himself to sleep. Michael held him through the whole mess and didn’t pry.

Michael was still there when Calum woke up. They hadn’t moved anywhere except closer together, and at some point in their sleep they’d ended up holding hands, as if they were afraid they’d drift away in their sleep. Or, as if Calum was afraid of Michael trying to slip away in the middle of the night. Calum had a headache from crying so hard the night before. He probably had Panadol in the bathroom, or he could steal some from Mali, but that meant getting up and he couldn’t bring himself to disentangle from Mikey. This close he could see Michael’s faint freckles and the delicate sweep of his lashes as he stirred.

“Feeling better?” Michael asked drowsily as he blinked awake.

“Not really,” Calum said bluntly. “But I figure I’ll just feel shitty for a while and eventually I’ll feel less shitty. Eventually.”

Michael nodded. “I suppose.” He shifted a little and re-settled the pillow beneath his head. “Want to talk now?”

“Not really. Probably should, though.” Calum squeezed Michael’s hand. Michael looked at their hands if only just now realizing that they were linked together. “It’s…I quit my extra team.”

“Your mum said,” Michael told him. His grip on Calum’s hand was reassuring. “She didn’t say why.”

“I picked the band over footie.”

A variety of expressions shifted across Michael’s face. He’d always been bad at hiding his emotions, especially from Calum. This close he couldn’t really hide anything at all.

There was relief there, and understanding, and some sadness and sympathy. Michael had wanted Calum to choose the band, that hadn’t been a secret, but on the same track, no one knew more than Michael how much Calum loved football, and how much it had hurt him to make this decision. No one understood more than Michael what this would mean, what this would do to their futures.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said finally. “I understand the crying now.”

Calum half-smiled at him. “I made the choice. My own fault.”

“No, you deserve to have both,” Michael said fiercely, sitting up and pulling Calum with him. “You shouldn’t have _had_ to choose. You deserve to have music, and footie, and _everything_ you want. You’re going to keep playing, right? You haven’t given it up entirely?”

“I’m still playing at school.”

“Good, you _should—_ ”

“Michael.” At the sound of his name, Michael stilled.

“Yeah?”

“I’m fine. It sucks right now, but I made the right decision. I’m sure.”

“You’re really sure?”

“I promise I’m sure.” Calum rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Promise.”

They fell into silence, Michael soaking in the news and Calum sorting out what he was going to do about everything that was changing.

“I texted Luke to bring over Ashton and pizza,” Michael said, finally disentangling himself. Calum missed his warmth immediately. “You’ve got to stop wallowing. The whole hermit thing is my deal, not yours. Stop trying to steal my job.”

Calum kept the doona wrapped around his shoulders, feeling insulated and warm. Michael went and fetched glasses of water, and sat on the edge of the bed to chatter at Calum.

Luke showed up half an hour later with three pizzas. He barely blinked at the redness of Calum’s eyes and the unusual messiness of the room and instead dragged Calum’s desk chair over to sit next to the bed.

“If you start crying, I’ll start crying,” he warned. “I brought cheese, Hawaiian and pepperoni.”

“Hawaiian is mine,” Calum said immediately, not that it could be for anyone else.

“Pineapple on pizza is awful,” Michael said. His expression at the thought of Calum’s preferred pizza toppings was, as always, appalled.

“You put candy on yours. M&Ms, and smarties, and that’s equally gross,” Calum retorted. He still felt shaky but was beginning to feel more and more normal with each passing minute. “You have no room to talk.”

“Candy is a junk food,” Michael said immediately. He was digging through Calum’s bedside table to find the M&Ms he kept stashed there for when they had late night pizza parties. “So is pizza. They’re a match made in heaven and are both logical and delicious. Pineapple is a fruit, which is healthy, and should never be matched with junk food, which is why it should _never_ be put on pizza, which is like the ultimate junk food.”

“I can’t hear you over how _delicious_ it is.”

“You’re both fucking insane,” Luke said, and went to let Ashton in. Calum had to guard his pizza so Michael wouldn’t put anything on it, since he was fairly certain that pineapple, tomato, ham, and chocolate weren’t meant to go together, and especially not with cheese.

Ashton came up, bearing ice cream and beer. He gave Calum a hug while Luke and Michael bickered over who got the chair and who had to sit on the floor.

“Made your decision, huh,” Ashton said. Calum nodded. “Sucks, right?”

“Just a little,” Calum replied.

“Well, you’ve got all three of us to cry on while you sort everything out.”

Later, when Calum was full of pizza and a little past drunk, when we was cuddled into Luke’s side while Ashton and Mikey tried to figure out how to fit into Calum’s tiny twin-bed with Luke and Calum, he started to smile again.

“I made the right choice,” he mumbled, half-asleep. “You guys are the best.”

“Yeah?” Luke said. Calum budged over a little so Michael could spoon up behind him, while Ashton gave up fitting and decided to drape himself over all three of them. “Awesome.”

Calum kept thinking about that, how this could all work out. After all, he’d never had cuddle piles with is footie team. He fell asleep safe and warm and feeling like everything would be fine in the end.

It was bizarre, suddenly having three open afternoons a week and no games or tournaments filling his weekends. He had school and stuff, yeah, but he managed to get full nights of sleep now and he wasn’t so exhausted all the time. His school team didn’t fill all his time, and band practice didn’t fill in all the gaps, either.

Calum spent a lot of time banding and studying, and he wrote songs whenever he could. He wrote a few he was proud of, and fixed a couple of older ones. At the bottom of his guitar case was the tattered sheet of paper he had written his first song on. It was velvety soft now, fraying at the corners and creased deeply. When he pulled it out, he gently smoothed his fingers over the folds and read over the mostly-awful lyrics. He considered reworking it, but decided that he’d rather leave his first song be.

Gotta Get Out had been shockingly, surprisingly popular, but this had been earlier than that. He’d pilfered the intro, the only part he’d really liked, and stolen a bit of the second verse, and really, there wasn’t all that much left he liked very much. Absently, he played the chords, wincing at the slow and awkward changes, and remembering a time when those were challenging for him. Now, they were almost _too_ easy.

Smiling, he tucked the paper back into his case, in between the hard shell and the soft one. It hadn’t been _unlucky_ so far, so who was to say it couldn’t be _lucky_ for him in the longterm now?

Michael shouted outside, Luke’s voice chiming in, Ashton’s following not long after. Calum rested his guitar on his lap and waited for his friends to come bursting in and make this new chapter of his life completely and totally official.

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calum's life is a bit messy at the moment, but we're slowly creeping closer to modern day. Questions, comments concerns? (remember, you can come talk to me at tumblr at satellitesandfallingstars.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone quite famous takes notice of 5sos.

**==**

**JULY 2012** \--Ashton 17/18, Michael & Calum 16, Luke 15/16

==

 

Calum found it was easier to love footie and banding when neither was completely overwhelming. Michael and Luke started coming to his school practices, Michael to heckle and Luke to corral Michael. Coach Martin kept having to shoo them away from the field for distracting Calum, which was both obnoxious and hilarious. Band practices were easier too, and a hell of a lot more fun.

They were written up in the newspaper, and now that Calum was relatively free from footie commitments, it was easier to arrange and announce a small tour scheduled for the end of the month. It was called the Twenty-Twelve Tour, which was a piss-poor name in Calum’s opinion, but everyone else liked it, so he was overruled. They did an acoustic show in Hyde Park too, and that was a lot of fun. Some of Calum’s former football teammates came to see, and _that_ was definitely weird. It was good to see them but it was very definitely strange, to see them out of the context of footie drills and out of uniform.

They celebrated Ashton’s birthday with a party, but since Luke was still fifteen for another week and vaguely uncomfortable around Ashton’s older friends, they also celebrated as just the four of them with a ‘Happy Birthday Ashton and Luke’ cake that Michael decorated sloppily.

In between Ashton turning eighteen and Luke turning sixteen, they were photographed for a magazine. The whole experience of a photoshoot was downright bizarre, Calum thought as the day went on. A lot of it was hurry up and wait, which Ashton excelled at from his days as a theatre kid, but drove everyone else a little nutty.

It was weird, having clothes thrown at him and being ordered to change, and having people mess over his hair and face, since he thought he’d done a decent job with his hair that morning. Apparently not, considering the impromptu haircut he was given. The weirdest part was the direct orders of how he could and should stand, and getting shouted at if he slumped his shoulders too much, or blinked too often.

Luke, of course, loved it. Ashton put up with it, while Michael and Calum exchanged uncomfortable looks and made silly faces at each other until someone told them off.

By now, they were so used to each other’s presence that when they were instructed to crowd into each other’s personal space for a photo, none of them blinked. They picked Luke up and at least tried to balance him; Luke made some interesting squeaking noises when Ashton’s grip slid a little higher on his legs in an effort counterbalance Michael and Calum nearly dropping Luke’s head. Adam and the photographer both liked the photos, though, so Calum wasn’t too bothered.

They’d missed a day of school for the photoshoot; when they returned, they shrugged off their absence to their classmates as “band stuff”. As exciting as what they were doing was, no one else really cared much and Calum was inclined to let it lie.

Of course, people were wondering why they kept missing class, all three of them, and as a result some nasty rumors had started. Calum and Luke mostly ignored them, Calum stopping rumors with an unimpressed look and Luke deciding not to dignify anything with an answer. Michael, through, took personal offence and attempted to deck someone. Tried was the operative word, since he promptly got decked himself. The principal decided it was provoked and didn’t suspend Michael, but Michael’s mum was less forgiving and promptly grounded him for a month.

Everyone knew the punishment would only last a week at most and would end when Michael’s parents couldn’t monitor him anymore or just plain forgot. It didn’t really mean much for the band other than Michael missing a few practices and Luke’s birthday.

Michael apologized sheepishly, but there was no getting out of his grounding. Then, it turned out Ashton had work, and so it was just Calum and Luke for Luke’s birthday.

“Thanks for having me over,” Luke said, when Calum pulled the Tupperware with the ice cream cake in it out of the freezer.

Calum would have smacked Luke to remind him that hey, they were friends, Michael practically lived here and Luke had spent more nights than he could count already, but his hands were full with a cold plastic tub and an unwieldy freezer door.

“Careful, it’s cold,” Calum said, and dropped it on the table. “It’s cookies and cream and fudge and Oreo. Mali wanted to try making an ice cream cake.”

“You mean _you_ wanted to try making an ice cream cake,” Luke said dryly. “And your mum wouldn’t let you after you nearly burned the kitchen down making cupcakes for the bake sale two months ago.”

Calum made a face and fetched strawberries and bowls from the cupboard. “Can you grab utensily things?”

“Spoons or forks?”

“Both, and one of the sharp knives.”

Calum surveyed the cake and took the knife from Luke. He gouged a hole in the top and stuck the candle it, and lit it carefully.

Luke sang along when Calum sang happy birthday, their two voices loud in the still of the house. Calum’s dog wound around their feet, yipping happily.

“What’d you wish for?” Calum asked, while Luke licked ice cream off the candle and set about cutting the cake into pieces.

“Same as last year,” Luke said absently. “Another year with friends like you, Michael, and Ashton.” His knife was sticking stubbornly in the rather solid block of ice cream. With a grunt he pried it free and tried again. Calum fished out his phone and took a photo.

“Ash and Mikey aren’t here, though.”

“Ash had work, and Michael’s grounded. They’d be here if they could be,” Luke said, shrugging. “You’re still my friends even if you’re not all here on my birthday proper. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, in the twenty minutes Michael gets out of his house.”

Calum snorted as Luke levered a chunk of ice cream cake out of the tub. “Yeah, I guess. I don't think that they should get ice cream cake though."

 "Oh, no, this is all ours," Luke agreed solemnly. "They can get their own cake, if they can't be bothered breaking out or skipping work for my birthday." Luke's block of ice cream wobbled on the knife and plopped into his bowl. Luke handed the knife off to Calum, who grinned and set about carving out his own chunk of cake.

Luke dumped half a tin of Hundreds and Thousands onto his ice cream, and and scooped a small mountain of strawberries on top of that. Once Calum had freed his own ice cream, he followed suit, though his bowl ended up with rather more whipped cream and syrup than Luke's had.

They bickered goodnaturedly while they ate their “cake” and then marathoned horror movies. Or they tried to--halfway through the first one, Luke decided they were done and switched to one of Calum’s mum’s romcoms.

It was nothing Calum hadn’t done with Michael a million times before, but somehow this felt weirder. He remembered trying to watch The Ring with Michael when they were twelve and chickening out before they even got fifteen minutes in, and then pretending they didn’t like the romantic comedies they’d watched all night. There was nothing _different_ about what they were doing, except it _was_ different and Calum didn’t know why. Mikey was his best friend, but s was Luke. Maybe it was because--well. Luke liked boys sometimes and so did Calum, so they had a potential that didn’t exist with Michael, or something like that.

All Calum knew was that when it was time to go to bed, he and Luke had separate sleeping bags on the floor, rather than sharing his bed. He didn’t like this feeling of vague discomfort, not with his bad. Still, he curled up in his sleeping bag and drifted off.

July wore on; Ashton and Luke went to the Ed Sheeran concert. Luke’s parents had given him two tickets for his birthday, and Luke had passed the birthday favor along to Ashton. Calum and Michael planned out an epic prank on Mali-Koa, which backfired awfully on them. They were also an extra dozen rehearsals for the Twenty Twelve Tour, and plenty of meetings with Adam and Liz, who had appointed herself band mum.

 

**==**

**AUGUST 2012** \--Ashton 18, Michael, Luke & Calum 16

==

 

Of course, Calum got a little careless the week they were traveling for the twenty twelve tour. It was incredibly fun, going new places with his band and meeting fans and promoting their cover ep. It was also incredibly nervewracking and Calum decided to cope with that the best he knew how: by wearing soft panties under his clothes and hoping none of bandmates would decide to pants both his jeans and his underwear on stage. So far, he'd been lucky.

They stayed with Luke's aunt in Adelaide, but shared a hotel room in Melbourne. Technically, Luke was supposed to share with his mum, and Calum, Ashton, and Michael would share another, but Luke had whined enough about sharing with his mum that all four of them wound up sharing anyways.

They were in close quarters, close enough that Liz and Ashton went out for a walk to get some space. Luke took a shower in his mum's room while Michael showered in their shared one. Calum flopped onto the bed and texted Mali.

He was halfway through changing into his pyjamas when Michael made a strangled yelp and slammed the bathroom door shut again.

Calum remembered a second too late that Michael would have gotten an eyeful of Calum's very pink panties, and hurriedly pulled on his track pants up his legs.

Michael reemerged from the bathroom, hair still dripping wet. "Okay. I didn't see what I thought I saw." He shook his head. "Okay. Fuck. This is weird."

Calum fishmouthed, trying to figure out what wanted to say and coming up completely blank.

"Like. Maybe that's part of your whole bi thing, but--yeah, I don't want to know. I'm just gonna, y'know, assume I'm having a really weird dream. Or, like. I'm tired and hallucinating. Or something." Michael crossed the room and faceplanted onto the bed. Calum changed his shirt and crawled in next to Michael, who was trying to hold very still and act like he was asleep.

Ashton and Luke came in twenty horrible, quiet minutes later, chattering, and hushed each other at seeing Michael and Calum asleep. Calum listened to them digging through their bags and getting ready for bed, sharing the other in the room, and felt himself drifting off at the comforting clatter.

The next morning, Michael was up earlier than Calum, for once, dicking around with Ashton while Liz, Luke, and Calum slept on. When Calum tracked them down, Michael just gave him a cheerful smile. Ashton didn't blink, which meant Michael hadn't told him, or maybe Mikey really didn't remember.

It was his secret, then. He'd have to be more careful. But really, was okay.

Calum stretched and smiled, and went to challenge Ashton and Michael to a 2v1 footie match in the parking lot.

Their mini tour ended all too quickly, and it was back to school and a vague semblance of normalcy. Someone made a wikipedia page for them, which was weird in and of itself, and they were written about a decently big magazine. Between that and the maths test from hell, Calum was sufficiently busy for the rest that month.

 

**==**

**SEPTEMBER 2012** \--Ashton 18, Michael, Luke & Calum 16

==

 

Adam Wilkinson hadn’t been lying when he’d told Liz Hemmings he wanted to be personally involved with 5 Seconds of Summer. Within three months of appointing himself manager,the Cover EP had done shockingly well for a four-song non-original EP, their short tour had done well, they were scheduled to open for an _actually famous_ band, and had arranged a songwriting trip for them to London.

Liz oversaw everything any of them signed with a steely glare; at one band practice not long after Calum resigned from football, Luke told them she’d been reading up on international law regarding contracts and minors.

They did arrange a London songwriting trip, which Calum was practically buzzing out of his skin for. Gotta Get Out had gone over well with the fans, and no one had really pushed as to the song’s origins, not when both Calum and Ashton had some claim to writing it. Sometimes, when they talked about it, Calum caught Michael watching him speculatively, but that was practically par for the course since he’d confessed his secret to Michael.

The London Trip was planned for during a term break, when they’d only miss a week of school rather than three, and when Luke’s mum could come along to chaperon them, being off work.

When the day came to leave, Calum was full of nervous energy. Not so much as Michael, who’d never really flown outside of, like, Australia and New Zealand, and so the much longer flight was incredibly daunting.

The flight they took, Sydney to Singapore to London, was something like fourteen hours long. Luke and Liz both immediately fell asleep upon take-off. Calum was sort of surprised--the first time he'd left Australia he'd been so buzzy with energy and nervous excitement he'd chattered the whole way to New Zealand, and that wasn't _nearly_ so long a flight as this one. Luke seemed totally unconcerned with the whole thing, so either he was a lot better about planes than Michael was, or Liz had secretly drugged him with sleeping pills.

Michael had the window, with Calum next to him, and Ashton on the aisle. Michael messed with his headphones and offered an earbud to Calum, who shook his head and kept talking to Ashton.

"I want to see Abbey Road," Calum was saying as he pulled his beanie snug over his ears. "Do the whole Beatles picture and everything."

"Isn't that kind of overrated?" Ashton asked.

Like the Hemmings, he seemed totally unconcerned about the whole being-trapped-in-a-pressurized-tube-over-bigass-ocean-for-22-hours-not-counting-stops thing when Michael pointed that fact out.

"We'll be fine," he said, rolling his eyes at Michael's panic. "Planes crash less than cars."

Calum nodded in agreement.

Michael was in a band with a bunch of lunatics and he was going to die awfully, they were all going to die awfully.

He must’ve said that aloud, since Calum was suddenly taking his iPod from him. "We're not going to die," he said, and knocked his shoulder against Michael's. "And even if we do, what a way to go." He clicked around and picked something, then handed the iPod back. "This'll make you feel better."

"Aww, look at Callie taking care of his Mikey, " Ashton crowed suddenly, a shit-eating grin on his face. Michael’s expression pinched--Mikey was Calum’s nickname for him, and no one else’s. Calum had a similar expression. "When's the wedding, boys?"

Calum punched Ashton in the arm and shared an exasperated glance with Michael. Across the aisle, Luke started to snore, little hiccupping burbles of noise.

"The wedding will happen the day Luke quits the band to become a professional hermit,” Calum said, and shoved at Michael. “Put your headphones on, idiot.”

Michael tuned out gratefully and plugged into his best of AC/DC album, content to be nestled in the comforting cocoon of wailing guitars until his nervousness about flying subsided.

It was probably an hour before he felt a warm weight on his shoulder--when he glanced over, Calum had nodded off. Ashton was immersed in a book of some sort--probably 'how to be a better drummer' or 'ten ways to be a smug prick about banding', Michael decided.

Sighing, he shifted so Calum was more comfortably situated, and with the arm not awkwardly pinned down by Calum's weight he dragged his sweatshirt to drape over Cal's back.

 ==

London was about what Calum expected. The skies were grey, the airport was bustling with people, the weather warmer than Australia had been but cooler than Sydney could ever really get in summertime. It was a city, same as Sydney.

Possibly the best part of London so far was watching Michael trying to stay awake and failing miserably. So far he’d dozed off leaning against the wall while everyone else took trips to the restroom before tackling the customs line, started snoring while seated on the floor with his head braced against his suitcase, and ended up flat out sleeping on the floor. Liz had woken him up and was worriedly watching when Michael's eyes crossed as he yawned.

Calum nudged Michael’s side with his toe. Michael startled.

“I got you coffee,” Calum said, and held out the cardboard cup. Michael made a face--he hated coffee and always had--but accepted it. “It’s about half milk and a quarter sugar. And three shots of espresso,” he added, when Michael spluttered at how strong it was.

“What’ve you got?” Michael asked suspiciously.

“Hot chocolate. I’m not the one falling asleep.”

Michael stood and slumped against Calum’s shoulder, sipping at his coffee miserably. Luke was babbling excitedly to Ashton, who nodded along even though he looked as exhausted as Michael did. Liz gave each of them their coffees with a kind smile; Calum sincerely hoped Luke’s was decaf, for all of their sakes.

“How are you not a limp noodle?” Michael grumbled angrily into Calum’s shirt. “I’m so--I’m so tired.”

“I slept on the plane,” Calum told him, and patted at Michael’s head awkwardly. “You watched nine movies and got into a paper airplane contest with Ashton and then got told off by the flight attendant.”

Michael scowled and pushed at Calum. Both their drinks sloshed around in their cups; Michael took a sullen sip.

Somehow, they made it through customs without either Michael or Ashton falling asleep on the customs officials. They made it to the place they were staying--a house owned by the label for artists come to work with London-based recording studios and songwriters.

It took probably five days for their jetlag to wear off entirely, but they were functioning by the second day. Late afternoon, Calum and Luke hauled out their songwriting notebooks and the four of them had a band meeting about what they wanted to get done on this trip.

Michael kicked back on the sofa. His limbs splayed out inelegantly, taking up far more space than should have been reasonable. Calum sat on the floor and leaned back so his head was resting on Michael’s knee, carefully angled so Michael could peer over the edge of the couch and look into Calum’s notebook.

“I want to write at least six totally new songs,” Luke said. “And polish at least two we’ve already got.”

“Our goals totally changed after we wrote with Amy Meredith,” Ashton warned. “So we should keep an eye on that while we’re here.”

“If they change, they change,” Michael said. He shifted a little and jostled Calum, who flicked Michael’s thigh in retaliation. “Let’s have something to aim for, at least.”

“I want to try for a fan meetup,” Calum chipped in. “No idea if we’ve got enough fans here, but we can try, right?”

Liz listened in from the table, where she was typing an email to Jack and Ben. She was proud of the boys her youngest had chosen to befriend, of how well they were handling this, and decided to leave them to their own devices.

The next week was frantically busy, with the boys fracturing off into groups or on their own, working as hard as they knew how. Luke treated songwriting the same way he did homework: after a days’ songwriting session, he’d sit at the table and chip away at his work studiously, carefully considering and revising for hours. Michael and Ashton took a more freeform approach, throwing ideas at each other and seeing what stuck. Calum was somewhere in between, often at the table with Luke but just as frequently tossing around ideas with Ashton and Michael.

They did manage to arrange a fan meetup in Hyde Park, which both Calum and Luke were absolutely over the moon for. Michael and Ashton were just as excited but were slightly more restrained in expressing that excitement.

They skyped with Adam Wilkinson halfway through the trip to discuss what would happen once they were back. They had a weekend blocked out for recording their new material, once they got back to Australia, and they were rehearsing to open for Hot Chelle Rae.

Luke chattered about the songs they’d polished up, the new ones they’d written and the ones he liked best. Ashton talked about the turnout for their meetup. Calum and Michael were quieter, whispering to each other and only adding details when necessary. Wilkinson nodded along and listened, and offered suggestions.

“Sounds like you’re working hard,” he said finally, when no one had anything new to add. “Remember to have fun and do some sightseeing one of these days.”

“We’re going to Buckingham palace tomorrow,” Calum said. He was sitting on Michael’s lap so all four of them could see the screen and be seen by the camera. Wilkinson kept giving them funny looks, but Calum was sort of used to that by now. “And we are having fun, really. Songwriting _is_ fun.”

“If you’re certain,” Wilkinson said easily. “So, what’ve you written, what’s it like?”

At the end of their three weeks, when they headed home, they were all buzzing contentedly over what they’d accomplished and how it might go over with their fans. Once again, Michael claimed the window seat next to Calum. This time, though, he actually slept, curled up and snoring like a freight train. Whenever people around them got a little glarey, Calum just pushed Michael into a less snorey position and settled himself again.

 

**==**

**OCTOBER 2012** \--Ashton 18, Michael, Luke & Calum 16

==

 

In the grand scheme of things, October 2012 felt like it was actively out to destroy Calum’s sanity. Half the month was exhilarating and the other half made Calum want to crawl in a ditch and cry for the next three months.

They’d missed a week of school, so while Ashton was recording his parts, Calum and Michael huddled together over their maths homework and Luke was struggling his way through _Crime and Punishment_. It wasn’t hard to tell Luke would rather be pestering the sound engineer, but when Liz had dropped them off, she’d warned them about getting their work done.

No one wanted to piss off Mumma Liz, so homework it was.

That didn’t mean they didn’t take short mental breaks, though. Three quarters of the way through Ashton’s recording, Michael stood and announced he was going to the toilets. Ten minutes later, when he hadn’t returned, Luke decided to go after him.

Calum could’ve told Luke it wouldn’t go well, but honestly, Luke had been friends with Michael for upwards of two years now. Luke should’ve been able to figure it out for himself.

With both Luke and Michael gone, Calum wandered over to where the engineer was sitting and watched as Ashton finished the first batch of drum recordings. They’d probably have to do some polishing to finalize everything later, but this was their starting point.

“I think I’m next,” Calum said, while Ashton tidied up and the engineer did something complicated that probably added up to saving the files for playback, or something.

“Bass?” The tech asked. Calum would’ve replied, but that was when several things happened.

Calum barely blinked when Luke came tearing around the corner, screeching. Ashton looked a little alarmed, especially when Michael nearly took out their circle of chairs careening after him.

“Michael’s nervous,” was all Calum said, when both Ashton and the engineer turned to him with disbelieving expressions. “Ashton’s done, right? My turn?”

Michael and Luke’s screaming entrance had been spectacularly timed: Ashton had just stepped out of the recording booth and Liz Hemmings had just walked in. She’d gone to drop Luke’s dog Molly off at the vets, according to Luke.

Not unlike Molly, Luke ran to greet Liz, though unlike Molly, he used his mother as a human shield against Michael.

Three things happened, then. Liz scolded Luke and Michael, Ashton covered a laugh as he flopped into the chair next to the engineer, and Calum ducked into the booth with his bass, sniggering.

==

They played the first opener for Hot Chelle Rae, seven songs. They were steadily improving, and they had more and more fans that recognized _them_. Luke threw up before the first show--he kept throwing up before shows, Michael hoped he'd get over it eventually--and Ashton lost his drumsticks-- _all_ of his drumsticks-- leading to a five minute panic before they were located.

“Scared yet?” Ashton asked, finally having recovered his drumsticks from Luke’s guitar case. He was a little breathless with excitement.

“Terrified,” Luke mumbled. He looked like he might throw up again. Michael was oddly still, holding his excitement and terror in. Calum watched his movements a little warily, knowing Michael’s nervous energy was prone to exploding onstage.

Calum himself was mostly unfazed--a show was just like a footie match, really, just with more people. If they played well, they’d win, and they were capable of playing well. None of the others really played soccer, but Calum thought that Ashton got it--a show was a show, no matter how many people they played in front of.

Cher Lloyd and the Hot Chelle Rae boys were all nice, but they weren’t really big on advice it seemed. 5sos met the five of them as a collective group for about ten minutes before the chaos of the show really got going; Cher Lloyd gave them sympathetic looks, seemingly understanding how massively overwhelming this was for them, having never played anything this large.

This show went significantly better than the first show they’d ever played as a quartet, nearly a year after. Calum knew the two weren’t really comparable, but they were both milestones, he thought, and deserved to be filed under “big band moments” in the folder in his brain.

Now that their set was over (and Luke hadn’t thrown up onstage, and Michael hadn’t decided to destroy Ashton’s drum kit during their set for shits and giggles), Michael’s nervous energy was coming out, in the form of harassing Calum.

“If you say one bloody more chat up line, I’m going to stab you in the eye,” Calum said conversationally. They’d packed up their stuff and piled it into their transport trailer, and hung out in the audience for the show proper. After, they’d met people and waited for the parking lot to clear, and only just now were leaving, when it was late enough that even Luke was getting a little loopy.

Calum swung into the backseat of the car, a pile of sulk in an oversized jumper and a grey-knit beanie he’d stolen from Luke ages ago. Michael followed him, grinning widely. “And then leave your still-warm corpse by the side of the road,” Calum added, because apparently his threat wasn’t enough to deter Michael from being obnoxious.

Ashton was fiddling with the radio, trying to find an acceptable station. He looked up when Calum huffed angrily, shoving Michael away from a cuddle. “What’s going on?” he asked as Luke settled into the front seat, sniggering when Luke nearly brained himself on the door.

“Mikey’s been trying out all of his chat up lines on me,” Calum grumbled, pushing Michael out of his space. Michael seemed barely fazed and just kept nudging closer and closer, as if sheer persistence would get a cuddle out of Calum. To be honest, it probably would. “He’s sweaty and gross and I think he’s hitting on me.”

“If you think, you’re wrong,” Michael said. “I’m definitely hitting on you.”

“Why won’t anyone hit on me?” Luke asked. They were all sticky with dried sweat and rather ripe-smelling from the show, having decided not to shower at the venue and rather go home to clean up. “Michael, you can hit on me.”

“You’re like twelve,” Michael said dismissively, ignoring Luke’s protests that they were the same age. “And obviously I’m just hot for Calum’s body.”

“I swear to god if you start again,” Calum began, but Ashton cut him off before he could finish his threat.

“They can’t be _that_ bad.”

“I love every bone in your body,” Michael said immediately. “Especially mine.” He paused. “If I were a chicken, you’d be im-‘peck’-able.” Calum shrieked and grabbed for Luke’s sweatshirt, attempting to smother Michael to death. “There’s a sale in my room, all clothes are 100% off,” Michael managed, before Calum started smacking him in the face with Luke’s sweatshirt.

“That’s pretty bad,” Ashton commented from the driver’s seat. He put on his blinkers and merged out of the parking lot, otherwise unfazed by the squabble breaking out in the backseat.

“Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I keep seeing myself in them!”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Mikey.”

“Are you religious? ‘Cos I’m the answer to your prayers.”

Ashton snorted, covering his mouth at Luke’s glare.

“He’s been doing this for the past _week_ ,” Calum said. He dropped the sweatshirt and leaned forward so he was blocking Ashton’s rear-view mirror; Ashton shoved him back. “You’ll help me hide the body when I murder him, right?”

“Are you my big toe? Cos I’m going to bang you on every piece of furniture I own.”

“Depends on how many pieces his body is in,” Luke said.

“If you were a burger at Maccas, you’d be the _McGorgeous_.”

“At least six,” Calum said, and leaned back to push at Michael, who was attempting to hug Calum from behind. “No, I’m not fucking cuddling you, you smell and you’re being goddamn _annoying_.”

“Language,” Ashton said absently.

“On a scale of one to ten, you’re a nine, because I’m the one you need,” Michael yelled over everyone else.

“I’m going to chop him to bits and feed him to his fucking poodle, and you’re worried about my _language_?”

“If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

“Seriously, Mike?” Luke turned to stare at Michael. “Out of all the chat up lines in the world, you go for that one?”

Michael grinned, looking Luke dead in the eye. “If I asked you to fuck me, would your answer be the same as your answer to this question?”

“That’s it,” Calum said, and threw himself at Michael, grappling for his neck. Michael made a rather terrifying gurgling noise and head-butted Calum in an attempt to escape. Calum managed to pin Michael to the seats, both of them yelling at each other, mostly chat up lines and threats of death and violence.

“Luke, make them not kill each other,” Ashton said, trying not to snigger. He rolled his eyes at the road. They were stopped at a light, and a woman in the car next to them was staring at Michael and Calum in the backseat.

Luke unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled into the back, worming his way in between his two bandmates. He nearly kicked Ashton’s head in as he tumbled over into the back, but Ashton just sighed and dodged. Michael took refuge behind Luke’s shoulder; Luke’s presence did nothing to dissuade Calum’s attack.

“No more chat up lines,” Ashton decreed from the front seat, when it became clear that Luke’s presence was only a stopgap measure.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Calum said, and let go of Michael’s hair. Michael rubbed his scalp and sat up, squirming so he was actually sitting in his seat rather than flopped over onto the floor.

“Wait, wait. One more?” Michael asked, making big eyes at Luke and Calum in turn. “Just one more?”

“One more won’t hurt anyone,” Luke said, trying to settle ruffled feathers before Calum actually murdered Michael.

Calum sighed, leaning back against the window and nestling more deeply into his jumper. “One. _One_ more chat up line.”

“That shirt looks very becoming on you,” Michael said, grinning widely. “Of course, if I was on you, I’d be coming too.”

The entire car erupted in groans of disgust. Luke curled up, burying his face in his knees. Ashton was struggling to keep a straight face, and Calum’s hands were twitching.

“No, no, wait--I’ve got a better one”

“Nope, you’re done,” Calum said, and hooked his arm around Michael’s neck, dragging him in for a noogie. Luke tried to sit up and yelped when he crashed into both Michael and Calum.

“But it’s about Titanic--”

“No more,” Luke said, and clambered back into the front seat.

“Awww.” Michael folded his arms and sulked until Calum reached over and scratched behind his ears. Michael’s posture softened until he was resting his head on Calum’s shoulder as Calum petted at his hair.

Ashton figured all was forgiven between the two when they dozed off, curled up with each other.

==

Michael wasn't there when Ashton collapsed, but Luke was. Calum was Luke's third phone call, right after calling Anne-Marie and his own mum, and Michael happened to be hanging out at Calum's at the time.

Luke was a blubbering mess; how he'd managed two phone calls before this, Michael had no idea. Calum took the phone and tried to soothe Luke down from his hysterics. When Luke was finally calm enough to explain what was happening, Calum put the phone on speaker.

The situation was simple enough: Luke and Ashton had been hanging out, messing around with some potential guitar arrangements for an acoustic version of Unpredictable, when Ashton had collapsed. He was responsive again before Luke had found his mobile to dial 000, and Ashton had been able to explain enough what to do, but it was still pretty distressing for Luke.

Once Ashton had talked to both his mother and the rest of his band, they met up at Ashton’s house to figure out what they were going to do.

"So," Ashton said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I might not have told you everything."

The looks his bandmates exchanged were somewhere along the lines of "no shit Sherlock" and gentle concern. Ashton sighed and started explaining.

It wasn’t a complicated explanation: Ashton had a heart disease called atrioventricular nodal reentrant tachycardia that was manageable and non-life-threatening. Sometimes, on days when he’d forgotten to take his medication and hadn’t eaten enough, it could manifest in a drop in blood pressure and a subsequent collapse. And of course, it had, at an awful time.

Ashton’s mum had a few pamphlets, cheery yellow and blue things like AV NODAL REENTRANT TACHYCARDIA AND YOU and SO YOU HAVE A HEART CONDITION: NOW WHAT? that she gave to them to read.  Ashton waited for them to finish reading before speaking again.

“It’s non-life-threatening,” Ashton said. His mum nodded and rubbed his back. “I can fly and do sport and everything. I’m just supposed to avoid caffeine and take my medication and eat healthy and stuff. I only pass out when my blood pressure is super low. Usually, it’s just dizziness.”

“Liz knew,” Anne-Marie put in. “That was one of my conditions for letting Ashy go to London.”

Michael decided to let the Ashy nickname slide for now. He could tease Ashton later. Beside him, Luke startled at his mum knowing and not sharing the information with the rest of the band.

“It doesn’t affect my banding,” Ashton said. “Drumming’s good for me, keeps me healthy.”

Michael nodded; so did Calum.

“You’d be in a band regardless, right?” Luke asked, finally. “It’s either us or someone else.”

Ashton nodded.

“Then I think you should stay.” Luke swallowed and looked at the ground. “So we can keep an eye on you.”

Calum burst out laughing. It wasn’t so much what Luke had said but how he’d delivered it, dry and matter of fact, as if Ashton was sworn to them for life now. Which, considering Ashton and Luke’s dedication to the band, wasn’t entirely implausible.

“If you’re sure you’re not going to die on us,” Calum said. “One of the guys on my footie team had asthma and could still run like hell.”

“Language,” Anne-Marie reprimanded.

“Sorry.”

“You’re stuck with us,” Michael added. “ _Ashy_.”

Ashton couldn’t throw anything at Michael since his mum was right there, but his glare of death was a thing of beauty.

 

**==**

**NOVEMBER 2012** \--Ashton 18, Michael 16/17, Luke & Calum 16

==

 

It was during one of Calum and Michael’s sleepovers that Michael’s phone went absolutely nuts at two in the morning. Calum had fallen asleep on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael was dicking around on facebook until he was tired enough to actually go to sleep.

The sudden and incessant chirping of his phone caused Michael to startle and scrabble for it, and in the process he jerked Calum awake.

“What’s going on?” he slurred out, blinking rapidly as he glanced between Mikey and the phone on the nightstand.

“I--I don’t--I don’t know?” Michael was struggling to open even one of his messages, since every time he tried, a dozen new ones popped up. “They’re--they’re from Twitter?”

Calum sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Twitter?”

“Yeah. Twitter.”

“You get the band Twitter notifications texted to you, right?”

Michael nodded, reaching for his laptop. He clicked out of facebook and onto Twitter. It took him a minute to log out of his own account and into the band one--during which Calum seized Michael’s mobile and muted it.

“Holy shit, look at our follower count,” Michael said in shock. It hadn’t quite doubled but it was a near thing. “What the hell?”

When he clicked over their notifications, there was an immense number of tweets just mentioning them, and a significant number of retweets tagging them in something.

“The hell?” Calum asked. He leaned forward to read the tweet in question. “Louis Tomlinson. That’s the--that’s the guy from One Direction, yeah?”

“Think so.” Michael scrolled a bit, gaping at the number of tweets mentioning them. “Oh, my texting limit is so _fucked_.”

“Yeah, probably.” Calum pointed to the hyperlink. “Click on that guy’s name so we can see the tweet.”

“‘Been a fan of this band for awhile’,” Michael read. “‘Everyone get behind them.’ Calum--Calum, what the _fuck_?”

“I don’t know. What did he link?”

Michael clicked through, and--

“Gotta Get Out.” Michael stilled. “ _Gotta Get Out._ ”

Calum let loose a low string of curses. “A boybander sent his legions of fangirls after my original song,” he said weakly. “I--what? How do you even--what?”

“This is good, right? This is good.” Michael swore. “Fuck. How do we tell Luke and Ashton?”

“I mean--we tell them, right?” Calum’s still sleepy reflexes were a little too slow to stop Michael from calling Luke.

Luke, unsurprisingly, didn’t pick up. Michael tried again, and--

“Fuck off, Michael,” before Luke hung up.

“Ashton can tell him,” Michael decided, and dialled Ashton instead. It only took three rings for Ashton to pick up.

“Jesus, Michael, it’s like, three in the morning--”

Calum and Michael chattered over each other, tripping over their words in an attempt to explain what had happened. The end result was that Ashton only really got half the story, the part with One Direction.

“We already _did_ a One Direction cover,” he said crossly. “Couldn’t think have waited until morning?”

“One Direction tweeted Gotta Get Out,” Calum blurted. He elbowed Michael in the stomach to keep him from speaking. “Our follower count, like, doubled.”

Ashton was silent for a moment. “Has anyone called Luke yet?”

“We were gonna let you do that,” Michael admitted.

Ashton sighed. “Tell me more before I call him.”

They had an impromptu band meeting the next morning. All four of them skived off school to sort out their varying degrees of disbelief. It was a strange, surreal experience and none of them really knew what to make of it.

“The timing is insane,” Calum said. When they found a spot in the park he deemed satisfactory, he flopped down onto the ground and sprawled out in the grass. “It’s the best promo we could’ve asked for, since we’re like, what, two weeks out from releasing our first single?”

“Could it not be a coincidence?” Luke put forward shyly. He sat carefully on the grass, trying to keep his uniform largely clean. “I mean--could Adam have had anything to do with this?”

“How the hell would Adam get Louis Tomlinson to tweet about one of our songs?” Michael arranged himself next to Calum, resting his head on Calum’s stomach. “Our EP isn’t even out yet.”

“Well, maybe--maybe he called in a favor to their manager. Maybe they’re the same label and it’s all inter-label promo stuff.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, contemplating that.

“What could One Direction want from us? Like. How does this help them?” Calum finally asked. “I mean--we have a cover EP out, but they have, like, actual albums.”

“It could just be that he liked our song,” Michael said. “Jesus. People are allowed to like things and share them.”

“Still,” Ashton said. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows. “People are going to notice us more now. Cos, before, we were a local cover band who got some coverage, but now we’re a local band with international attention from a popstar.”

“He’s a in a _boyband_. What does that say about us?” Calum crossed his legs, jostling Michael a little and earning himself a glare. “What?”

Ashton just shook his head and changed the topic. They didn’t end up going to school that day--Michael convinced Ashton that it was a good day to do banding instead of schoolwork--but they did the next, and. It was definitely a little weird being back at school. Girls looked at them a little differently--or, at least, the girls who cared about One Direction did--and it unsettled Calum. He kept close to Michael or Luke, and wondered if this sort of attention would die down or stick around, and what he’d do if either came to pass.

==

They didn’t have much to do with the Out Of My Limit video release. Luke had long since given up the password to their band account, and someone at the label had uploaded the video at the exact time it needed to.

The band had decided they’d just make each other more nervous if they were together for the release, and had decided to get together on Michael’s birthday instead to celebrate both events. As such, Calum had a good twenty-four hours to kill, and he thought he was going to go out of his mind.

Mali-Koa distracted him with a few horror movies, and he was too scared to even think about the single. It worked until Mali called it quits and went to bed, and then the anxious thoughts were back with a vengeance. He checked his phone--mostly texts from friends congratulating him on the video, but nothing from Luke, Michael, or Ashton--before taking the longest shower known to man and then flopping tiredly onto his bed.

He resigned himself to counting sheep until he fell asleep.

In hindsight, he should have turned off his phone, since Michael called in the wee hours of the morning, and really, nothing good ever came of 3 AM phone calls from Michael.

Calum rolled over, looked blearily at his phone, and answered it. He flopped back onto the bed. “What do you _want_?” he moaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. “It’s like. Two in the goddamn morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Michael said, oddly sombre. “Nervous.”

Calum sat up and reached for his bedside lamp, flicking it on and casting warm yellow light into his corner of the room.

“Want me to talk at you?”

“Was hoping you’d let me in,” Michael said. Calum blinked.

“Are you outside my house?”

Michael made the sort of noise Calum always associated with shrugs, which was basically a confirmation. “Weren’t much traffic.”

“That’s like a fifteen minute walk, and it’s three in the morning,” Calum snapped, but he was already getting out of bed and padding towards the front door to let Michael in.

“I might’ve borrowed Mum’s car,” Michael said.

Calum paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh my god you did _not_.”

“Might’ve! I said might’ve!”

“You stole your mum’s car because you couldn’t sleep! Michael!”

“I left a note!”

“And stole her car! You don’t even have your P’s yet!”

“Shh,” Michael said. “Details. She lets me drive sometimes, and so does Ash.”

“Only when he’s drunk and you’re less so,” Calum said, and shivered at the coolness of the tiled entryway floor. “You can’t drive, Mikey.”

“I _can_ drive, I’m just not allowed to,” Michael grumbled. “Are you going to let me in or not? It’s fucking freezing.”

“I’m unlocking the door now,” Calum said, and twisted the deadbolt. “Get inside, you turnip.”

A gust of cool breeze hit Calum as soon as he opened the door, sending goose bumps over his arms. He waited a minute for Michael to scramble out of his mum's car and lock it, and bound up the steps and stepped aside to let him in.

"You're going to be in so much trouble," Calum told Michael, who shrugged.

"You let me in," he said, and pushed the door shut. "You're equally in trouble."

"No, I'm not," Calum said. "Since you're the one who stole a car. Come on, my room's warmer."

Michael nodded, already toeing off his shoes and putting them in the same pile as Calum's. He dropped his jacket on the bannister, among the pile of other jackets there, and followed Calum upstairs.

Calum slid into his bed, lifting the covers for Michael to do the same. They were both getting too big to easily fit into Calum’s bed, both growing too tall to be able to curl up as easily as they had when they were younger.

“Not that I’m not freaking out too, but...why’d _you_ freak out now?”

“We’re releasing a music video,” Michael said, nosing at the skin under Calum’s ear until he was settled comfortably. “Of a song that we wrote and recorded and are releasing.”

“I know, isn’t it great?”

“Sort of.” Michael sighed and tucked up smaller, his cold feet brushing against Calum’s calves. “I’m scared.”

“What, of people not liking it?”

“People not liking it, and us having to go back to school as failures.” Calum stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and hummed in understanding. “People liking it, and _everything_ changing.”

“It’s going to be one or the other.”

“I know,” Michael said, and closed his eyes. His lashes tickled against Calum’s throat, soft and floaty. “I don’t want either to happen.”

“Kind of late now,” Calum said. He relaxed into the bed more, Michael’s weight pressing him down. He was tired, and it was pleasantly warm with the two of them tucked up together. “What happens happens.”

“Does it have to, though?”

“It’s not like we can take down the video.” Calum turned a little and let his eyes flutter closed. “Or un-record the EP.”

“I just...I don’t want to go back, Cal, I love our band too much.” Calum nodded into Michael’s hair. He hummed in understanding. “But...what the hell are we doing?”

“Banding.”

Michael bit Calum on the collarbone.

“Ow! No, seriously, though. We’re banding.”

Michael huffed out a breath and pinched at Calum’s side. Calum flinched away.

“It’s going to be the worst birthday present ever.”

“Or the best. Go to sleep, you dingbat,” Calum said. He shimmied a little, settling more comfortably into the narrow groove between Michael's body and the wall.. “I’ll be here in the morning.” He combed his fingers through Michael’s hair, soft and gentle.

“Promise?” Michael asked, voice small. He reached up and pressed two fingers into Calum’s wrist, right where his pulse beat.

“I promise.”

Michael leaned up and kissed Calum’s jaw before settling down, reaching down to haul up the doona. “Promise,” he repeated, content.

Calum fell asleep with Michael clinging to him, their breaths slowly matching up.

Calum woke up at seven, like he always did. Michael kept snoring away, lying half on top of Calum in order to fit in the small bed. Calum managed to snag his DS off his bedside table without disturbing Michael too much, and settled in for an early morning game while he waited for either Michael to wake up or his mum to come find them.

The latter happened first, with his mum knocking on the door half an hour later.

“Calum, is Karen’s car in our--” Calum’s mum stopped short in the doorway, seeing Michael curled up asleep, forehead wrinkled with a dream. She sighed and gave Calum the sort of look that meant he was in _major_ trouble later. He just smiled sheepishly at her. “I’ll call Karen.” She fished her mobile out of her pocket and closed the door; Calum could hear her going down the hallway. “Hi, Karen? This is Joy. Your son and your car are at my house...mm-hm...”

Twenty minutes later, when the smell of oatmeal and orange juice was spreading through the house, Michael deigned to wake up.

“Happy Birthday,” Calum said, immediately followed by “you’re in so much trouble.”

“Fuck off,” Michael said, rolling over and burying his face in Calum’s stomach. He wrapped his arms around Calum’s torso, clinging tightly. “S’too early.”

“Your mum’s going to kill you, and my mum’s next in line.”

“She’ll kill you too,” Michael mumbled and peeked up at Calum. “Sorry.”

“It’s not my fault, and your mum loves me.”

“She wishes you were her son.” Calum tugged at Michael’s hair.

“No she doesn’t,” Calum said, and went back to his game. Michael waited until Calum was at a good point to save, then started pestering him about breakfast.

Joy was slamming cupboards in the kitchen, muttering to herself. On the stove a batch of scrambled eggs was cooking, so she wasn’t too awfully mad, but it was enough to cause Michael and Calum to slink into seats at the table guiltily.

“Happy birthday,” she told Michael, and then put Michael’s mum on speaker phone. The both of them read Calum and Michael the riot act, Michael getting yelled at especially loudly for driving without a license and for not letting Karen know where he’d gone.

“You’re only in a little less trouble now because it’s understandable how nervous you are,” Michael’s mum finally told them. “I’m still confiscating your laptop, Michael.”

“Yes, Mum,” Michael replied obediently. He took a bite of eggs and let his mum ramble on for a bit, let her think that her lesson was sinking in. Joy smacked him on the back of the head when she noticed he wasn’t paying attention, then whisked the phone away.

Calum nudged his socked toes against Michael’s shins under the table. “Sorry, dude.”

Michael shrugged. “My fault.”

Even though Calum’s mum definitely knew Michael was supposed to be grounded, she let them waste the day in Calum’s room, playing XBox. Neither of them wanted to go anywhere near YouTube, looking faintly green at whenever Mali or Joy brought it up. They were both listless at lunch, poking at the cheese toasties Michael made without any actual intention of eating them.

Mali breezed through the kitchen, returning from a night she’d spent at a friend’s. She was smirking as she ruffled Calum’s hair.

“How’s the--”

“Don’t ask,” Calum said, and flumped forward onto the table, barely missing his plate and sandwich. “Please.”

Mali’s smirk grew wider and she stole one of the sandwich triangles off of his plate. Michael wordlessly pushed his own plate towards Mali-Koa. She ignored it and licked a string of melty cheese off her thumb.

“Have you even checked on it?”

“I’ll throw up if we do,” Calum told her. He poked at the sandwich triangle still left on his plate, as if that would make it a little more appealing. “We’ll look when we have dinner at Mikey’s house with Luke and Ash.”

“We’re all going to that, right?” Mali took a plate down from the cupboard and scooped up all three remaining sandwich triangles, two from Michael and one from Calum.

“If you _want_?” Michael sipped at his glass of water and then decided to copy Calum by resting his forehead on the table as well. “Like, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s your birthday. And you’ve released a--”

Both Michael and Calum covered their ears and babbled gibberish to drown out whatever she was going to say. Mali chortled and whisked her plate out of the kitchen and up to her room, completely flaunting the ‘no food upstairs’ rule.

The rest of the afternoon went much the same as the morning: Calum decided he didn’t want to play XBox and so they went out to the backyard to kick one of Calum’s footballs back and forth. Michael missed most of the shots Calum kicked to him, but he didn’t really expect otherwise.

They ended up lying on the grass, shoulder to shoulder, and staring up at the brilliantly blue sky.

“We’re going back to school on Monday,” Michael said, a little blankly.

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be weird.”

“Like anyone at Norwest watches our videos, really.” Calum threw his ball up in the air and unerringly caught it, and repeated, watching the navy blue ball spin up towards the sky and back down again. “They say they do to shut us up about it.”

Michael groaned and covered his eyes with his forearm. They stayed like that until Calum’s dad came out of the house to tell them that they were leaving for the Clifford’s.

“Time to face the music,” Calum said grimly, and pulled Michael up to his feet.

Michael groaned and rubbed at his eyes, but followed Calum out to the car. Michael’s mum’s car was gone, and so was Joy, which meant she’d gone ahead already.

Luke and Ashton weren’t at the Clifford house yet, but Adam and Calum’s mum and Michael’s parents were. Michael froze up a little; it was a weird, thinking how many people would be in his house when usually it was just him, a lot of the time.

“Hey, kiddos,” Adam said cheerfully as Michael and Calum wandered through the door. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and chatting with Michael’s mum. “What’s this I heard about a missing car?”

Michael flushed and mumbled an excuse. Adam laughed and crossed the kitchen to ruffle Michael’s hair.

“Ah, we all do it, kiddo. Let’s hold off on the crazy rockstar behaviour til we’ve got a hit on our hands.” Adam winked and quickly changed the subject when he noticed how pale Michael and Calum had gone. “Happy birthday, Michael.”

Daryl made an excuse and wandered out to the back patio, where Michael’s dad was setting up the barbeque.

Despite the fact that it was ostensibly a party to celebrate their first real single, no one actually acknowledged the song. That was probably because all four boys looked like they’d keel over from nervousness anytime anyone even started to bring it up.

They had dinner in the back garden and chatted amicably, then went inside for dessert when it started to get dark. They sang happy birthday,causing Michael to flush bright red in happiness. As Michael’s mum served cake, Calum decided to bite the bullet and check on the video, twenty-four hours in. He pulled it up on Michael’s laptop and waited for the page to load.

“Calum?” Luke asked, when Calum froze.

“We broke a hundred thousand views,” Calum said breathlessly, gesturing to the laptop screen. “Out of My Limit has a _hundred thousand views_.”

There was a split second of silence as everyone processed the news, and then the kitchen erupted in cheers and shouts of disbelief. Luke scrambled over Mali-Koa’s lap to get to Calum and the laptop to see for himself; Ashton grabbed the laptop from Calum and pushed together with Luke to see the screen, and Michael tackled Calum in a massive hug.

The two of them toppled over to the kitchen floor, Michael reaching out and nearly dragging Ashton and Luke down with them.

The room was chaos for ten minutes following, with Luke nearly bursting into tears

Michael’s mum didn’t say anything when Michael slipped a beer out of the fridge. She got a little squinty eyed at his second one, and he didn’t dare try for a third. Calum’s dad didn’t blink when Calum followed suit, but Luke’s mum did. Ashton was old enough that no one bothered him about it at all.

The four of them ended up in the living room, while their parents talked in the kitchen and their older siblings were--from the sounds of it--trying to tell the most embarrassing stories about their younger brothers to Adam.

Eventually, everyone started drifting away from their little groups. Adam left around eleven to drive Ashton home, and the whole Hemmings family followed not long after; Calum’s family stuck around with Michael’s to talk for a while, Michael’s parents asking after Mali’s university adventures.

Michael tugged Calum back to his room, lacing their hands together. He sprawled out on his bed, a little tipsy and a lot tired, and so, so elated. Michael was babbling about everything--about the song, about the reception, about his presents and his party--and Calum listened, toeing off his shoes and setting up the laptop on Michael’s nightstand.

They scrolled through the comments, laughing in disbelief at the sheer amount of comments and the _excitement_ people had over the video. They took turns reading the comments out loud to each other, giggling over some of the more enthusiastic ones.

“Be right back,” Calum said, and disappeared, presumably to the bathroom.

Michael sprawled on his back, watching the fan whir lazily on the ceiling. Everything was so incredible now, so different from only a year ago when his only friends were Calum and Luke. Granted, his only close friends were Calum and Luke, and now Ashton, but they had a band now. They had a band that wrote and recorded and released their own songs that people actually liked, and they wrote with, and they'd opened for big bands, and god. Everything was _amazing_.

When he returned, Calum tripped over some of the miscellaneous junk covering the floor near Michael’s bed, and ended up braced over Michael, his hands clasped together over their heads.

“You’re such a klutz,” Michael managed, giggling.

“Like you’re any better,” Calum snarked, and went entirely boneless, letting his bodyweight fall entirely onto Michael, who wheezed, breath knocked out of him.

Even when Michael got his breath back, he didn't move to push Cal off.

“Hey Cal.” Michael’s expression was vulnerable. “There’s no one else I’d rather do this with.”

“Me either,” Calum said, and made to get up. Mikey wrapped his arms around Calum’s torso, though, and they only succeeded in nearly toppling off the bed again. Calum clung to Michael with a shriek, scrabbling to stay on the narrow bed.

They ended up nose to nose, chests pressed together, Calum on top of Michael still.

“Mikey,” Calum breathed, and the next thing Michael knew, they were kissing. He didn’t know who started it, but he didn’t particularly care, too distracted with the fact that Calum’s mouth was soft and warm, and he tasted like birthday cake and beer. Michael had no idea what he tasted like, but he guessed it was similar. Really, kissing Calum wasn’t too horribly different from kissing a girl--Calum didn’t have any stubble yet, even though he was fifteen, and both Calum and Michael’s last girlfriend preferred flavourless chapstick to sticky lip-gloss.

No, the biggest difference was that this felt like it could settle into his bones, Calum pressed against him from the top of his head to their socked toes. This was quiet, lazy kissing just to kiss rather than kissing with an endgame of getting off, and it felt like something Michael would want for forever. This felt nothing like a first kiss, or a kiss between mates, and Michael filed that away to think about later, when there weren't more important things to think about, like how slick Calum's mouth was or how he could feel his heartbeat in his ears and Calum's breath tickling across his face.

Calum sighed, fingers tugging lightly at Michael’s hair. The air conditioner hummed in the background, Michael’s laptop still open to the comments section of their video and iTunes playing on shuffle quietly. This close, Calum could see the faint freckling across Michael’s nose, the achy flush of his sunburn under his eyes and across his cheekbones, the way his eyelashes brushed dark against his skin.

“Happy birthday,” Calum whispered when he finally pulled away, rolling over so he could curl into Michael’s side, eyes already fluttering shut tiredly.

"Best birthday ever," Michael sighed. He shifted a bit to give Calum more room. It was easy enough to fall asleep like that, tucked together on Michael’s twin bed, worn out from the day they’d had, feeling like everything in the world had changed.

Mali woke Calum up around two AM, gently shaking him awake and helping him disentangle from the octopus that was Michael.

“You sure you’re not dating?” she stage-whispered, helping Calum sort through the mess to find his shoes. “He slept at ours last night, and now you’re in his. Something you want to tell us?”

Calum flushed. “We’re not,” he said emphatically, loud enough that Michael stirred. He grabbed a pair of Michael’s converse, promising himself he’d return them eventually. “Come on, let’s go.”

When Michael woke up, he had the ghost of a headache and a sore throat from screaming so loudly with the boys. He wondered if he’d just dreamed the kiss with Calum, and resolved to only ever bring it up if Calum did so first.

==

Ashton graduated early, towards the end of November. His school let him take his final exams early, because of the fact that he’d been a mostly decent student and had a profession waiting for him already. He didn’t want anyone to make a big fuss about it, since he wasn’t graduating with his classmates. His mum had a dinner, though, and invited the entire band. After, they piled into Ashton’s mum’s car and went to the beach late at night. His mum packed them off with the rest of the cake and a thermos of—well, Ashton claimed it was coffee, but Michael wasn’t convinced it wasn’t toxic sludge sent to end them for making Ashton reject her suggestion of university.

Ashton drove, his iPod hooked up to the center console and blasting at full volume. It was too loud to really talk, which was probably what Ashton was aiming for. Luke had the front seat--he _always_ had the front seat, and one of these days Calum was going to bring up that blatant favoritism or else Michael would use it first to guilt trip Luke into a favor--so Calum sprawled out in the back and let Mikey kick his feet up into his lap. It took them half an hour to get to the beach, half an hour with music too loud and anticipation thrumming through each of them in turn.

The beach they went to was mostly abandoned--of course it was, it was a Thursday night, and it was chilly to boot. No one was coming to the beach.

Luke and Michael took off to find driftwood for the fire, while Calum found a good location. He sat in the sand and scraped out a bowl shaped indentation in the sand large enough for a good sized fire, and went to find rocks to ring it. When he got back with an armful of stones, Ashton was concentrating on starting the fire, with Luke’s driftwood, a wad of newspaper and his lighter.

Once the fire really got going, Ashton shucked his shoes and sat on the dirty towel they’d used every time they’d come to the beach in the last few months. Luke was already sitting cross-legged and digging a bag of marshmallows out of his backpack. Michael and Calum were a little slower, dragging the cooler out of the backseat together.

“So,” Ashton said, once everyone had settled. “Band meeting?”

“Band meeting.” Luke was already picking at the remnants of the cake, looking between the marshmallows and the chocolate cake contemplatively. “Think we could toast the cake?”

“I think you should put the toasted marshmallows on the cake,” Michael called out. He leaned onto Calum’s shoulder. He hadn’t told Ashton or Luke about the way he and Calum had kissed, and he was fairly certain Calum hadn’t either.

“First order of business: Out of My Limit.”

“Niall Horan tweeted about it,” Calum said. He slung his arm around Michael. “Niall Horan. What the _fuck_?”

“What the fuck indeed.” The firelight threw shadows across Ashton’s face and made his hair glow gold in the setting sunlight; he looked like a king holding court. Even if Luke was the official leader, Ashton ran the band behind the scenes. “But we got a shitton of views.”

“Who cares where the views came from,” Michael said at the same time that Luke chipped in with “but was it us they were watching, or was it just because of him?”

“Us,” Calum said definitely. “The view count spiked on our other videos too. He gave us a boost, but it was us that did it ourselves. He’s a musician, he wouldn’t have tweeted it if it wasn’t good.”

“The video went over well too,” Ashton added. “So, second order of business: London.”

“We’re doing song writing and negotiating more with Sony for an album after our EP,” Calum said. Michael started playing with the sand, building a little mountain. “And we’ve got Adam.”

“He’s not coming to London,” Calum pointed out. He dug through the cooler absently, ice chips pouring through his fingers. “What’s that mean?”

“We’re not important enough to have a full time manager,” Ashton said dryly. “We’ll work to change that, I guess.”

“What else?”

“We’ve got exam exemptions,” Luke said, carefully roasting a marshmallow. “And Ashton, you’re all finished.”

Ashton tipped an imaginary hat. “Isn’t there some big label meeting we’re supposed to go to in London?”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “But they won’t say what about so I don’t know if we should get all that excited.”

“Could we be getting dumped?”

“We’re not signed yet,” Michael said. He stared at the fire, looking almost entranced. “They can’t dump us if we’re not signed yet.”

“They could say they’re not helping us promo the EP,” Luke put forward hesitantly. “But we could just push on YouTube, couldn’t we?”

“I don’t think it’s the EP,” Ashton said. He shook his head and pushed his fringe out of his eyes. “They wouldn’t bring us to London to tell us that. And it’s already been recorded--what good would it be to not release it now, not when Out of My Limit did so well with the video.”

Michael worried at his lip, then shrugged and started cutting cake into cubes.

“I want to think it’s a good thing,” he said, and took a bite of cake. “Flying us and Luke’s mum to London? Getting good songwriters to work with us? And...well. _One Direction._ ”

Luke nodded, eyes wide and solemn. “That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“They wouldn’t make us a boyband, would they?” Calum folded his arms across his chest, momentarily forgetting how chilled his hands were from playing with the ice. He shivered. “I’m not dancing. Or giving up songwriting. I didn’t give up footie to be a boyband.”

“So we set up a code,” Ashton said easily. “Anything big they offer to any of us we bring back and discuss as a band. Especially if they offer it to us one on one.”

“Buddy system?”

“Not that far. Just...we should be careful.” Ashton leaned back on his elbows. The flickering fire made him look so, so serious. Calum reached for his drink and took a sip that he barely tasted. “We want to stay 5sos, yeah? Our own songs and ATL and Blink covers. So we don’t let them push us around, and if we do, it’s on stuff we want them to push on.”

Luke nodded and chewed on his lip. Ashton drummed his fingers against his leg. Michael tried to warm a skewered chunk of cake over the fire. Calum watched each of them, the eagerness and the doubt and the nervousness and the excitement seeping through their expressions and into the air around them, feeling almost tangible.

“This is so big,” Luke whispered, finally. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ashton said, and met each of their gazes in turn. “Yeah, it really is.”

==


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys celebrate Christmas, and all doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so horribly sorry about how long this took me to get up. I had a hectic, crazy week, and now I'm studying abroad with some really unreliable internet. On the upside, this chapter is polished to all hell. On the downside, it's looking like my update schedule will now be every two weeks, I'm sorry. I will do my best to make the last half of the story as fantastic as possible, but. Yeah. I'm at the mercy of the gods of the internet.

**DECEMBER 2012** \--Ashton 18, Michael 17, Calum and Luke 16

==

 

December was shaping up to be a long, exhausting month, Michael thought as they said goodbye to their families at the airport--except for Luke, whose mum was coming with them. Only four days into December and already his head was spinning. He wasn’t looking forward to having their schedule whir around in his mind the entire flight, but he needn’t have worried. Ashton first drew him into a conversation about something inane, and then Luke thrust a set of lyrics at him, sulking about his inability to complete the final verse satisfactorily. That didn’t last long, ending when Liz chided Luke for trying to work before they’d even crossed into international waters.

Finally, Calum sleepily offered an earbud to Michael and they settled in to nap. They changed planes in Singapore this time, rather than flying straight through. Luke and Ashton went wandering in the airport while Michael and Calum staked out seats in the waiting area with their bags and Michael’s laptop.

“Adam’s putting up Unpredictable about now,” Michael said, with a wide yawn. He stretched and started pacing up and down the row in between their little colony of seats. Calum sat and rubbed a cramp out of his calf, and watched Michael tiredly. “Can’t decide if I want to cry or celebrate.”

“I’m so tired I think they’re the same thing in my brain now,” Calum said, and pressed into the knot in his calf.

Michael snorted. “Don’t start crying. Luke’ll cry too.”

“Do you _see_ Luke here?” Calum protested. He kept working at his cramp, wincing until the pain eased. “So I dunno what you’re worried about.”

They bantered until Calum’s cramps had eased and Michael had badgered Calum into giving him a foot massage. They shared Michael’s headphones this time, looping through yet another repeat of All Time Low’s _Don’t Panic_. They bickered over if it was any better than any of the older albums, with Michael asserting that it was and Calum arguing that it was impossible to improve on perfection and so _Don’t Panic_ had been a step backwards.

That was how Luke and Ashton found them half an hour later, Calum’s fingers digging into the arch of Michael’s foot and Michael loudly insisting that Calum was completely and totally wrong.

“Mum wants to know what kind of sandwich you want,” Luke said breathlessly, skidding to a stop. Ashton wasn’t far behind, nearly knocking Luke over. Seeing how comfortable Michael and Calum had made themselves, he sniggered, trying to catch his breath at the same time.

“Is it, like, cold sandwiches or hot sandwiches?” Calum asked. Michael wriggled his bare toes in Calum’s lap, poking them into Calum’s stomach.

Ashton made faces at Michael while Luke rattled off the options. Ashton’s expressions were silly enough that Michael missed the choices entirely.

“Whatever Cal’s having, I guess,” he said, when prompted. Luke sighed and took off to find his mum, Ashton not far behind.

Whatever Cal was having turned out to be a meatball sandwich with extra cheese and some sort of curry powder on top. It looked weird but tasted fine.

The four of them sat on the floor and chatted until they were done with lunch, while Liz leaned back in one of the uncomfortable airport chairs. Finished with his meal, Calum offered to throw out the wrappers and challenged Ashton to a race down the terminal.

Luke and Michael wandered off to buy chewing gum, and all too soon they were boarding for the second leg of their flight, Singapore to London.

Michael was still buzzing, but like their first flight, Calum almost immediately powered down, falling asleep before they’d even taken off. Michael distracted himself with the book of word searches Ashton pushed at him but it wasn’t long after drinks were served that Calum was stirring and interrupting.

“You should sleep,” Calum mumbled sleepily. He was blinking in long, slow stretches, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Sleep with me, Mikey.”

“Nah, I’m too excited,” Michael said. He flicked through his phone and tried to settle down.

Calum humphed and pushed his way into Michael’s space, pinning Michael’s arms down in an aggressive cuddle. “Sleep with me, Mikey,” he repeated.

Ashton snorted. “Looks like you’re stuck, Michael.”

“There’s a movie on,” Michael said. “I’ll watch that while Calum imitates an octopus.”

“Sleep,” Calum grumbled.

“Sleep,” Michael soothed him, and gave Ashton a pleading look. “Can you get my headphones out?”

Ashton sniggered and dug Michael’s headphones out of his bag. “You could just push him off, you know.”

“I could, but I’m not going to.” Michael maintained a solemn expression through the indignity of Ashton putting his headphones on for him, but he settled in for the movie.

The flight attendant dropped off their immigration forms six hours and two and a half movies later; Michael kicked Ashton awake and left Calum sleeping to fill out the forms. Ashton grumbled and threatened to wake Calum, but Michael kicked him again.

Michael bubbled with pride when he filled in ‘musician’ under ‘profession’ on the customs card, and then again when he did it on Calum’s.

Calum barely stirred as Michael scribbled out the forms, only snuffling a little discontented noise when Michael jostled him to reach their passports.

Ashton opened his mouth to make a comment and closed it when Michael glared at him. Instead, Ashton fished out his phone and snapped a dozen photos of Calum curled up against Michael’s side, then turned to fill out his own form. That was the last thing Michael really noticed before he lost himself in the fictional world of his movie again, his head resting against Calum’s.

==

The house they had for the next few months was airy and clean, with three bedrooms. Mrs Hemmings--Mama Liz, Michael had to remind himself--took the big one painted pink at the end of the hall. That left the two smaller rooms with two twin beds each for the four of them to split.

“You two want to share?” Luke asked, glancing at Calum. To be fair, Michael was resting his head on Calum’s shoulder, watching him text with bleary eyes. He kept dozing off and dropping forward, waking up when he started to lose his balance.

“Yeah, sure,” Calum said absently. “Are you and Ashton going to share, then?”

“If he’s fine with it.” Luke shrugged. “Though I don’t know why he wouldn’t be.”

“Can we go to sleep now?” Michael mumbled, eyes slipping closed. Calum reached up and petted at Michael’s hair, scratching in all the right spots.

“Yeah, Mikey,” he said, and nodded to Luke. “G’night, mate.”

“Yeah, g’night.”

Calum guided Michael up the stairs. “You should’ve slept on the plane,” he scolded, pushing open the door to their room. The beds were on opposite sides of the room, with dressers in between. Calum put Michael on the left-hand bed, gently pushing him down. “I _told_ you to sleep, you idiot.”

“Didn’t want to miss anything,” Michael replied drowsily. He clumsily helped Calum get his shoes off, and then his jeans and t-shirt. “Had to make sure I saw everything.”

“We’ll see everything tomorrow,” Calum promised, manhandling Michael under the covers.

“Want to see everything with you,” Michael mumbled, curling into the pillows. His eyelashes were dark across his cheeks, his hair bright blond against the crisp white of the pillow. “Love you, Cal.”

“Love you too, Mikey.” Calum said, and kissed Michael on the forehead impulsively. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

Michael woke up the next morning to Ashton staring him down, phone held next to his face.

"Fucking hell," he yelped as he toppled out of bed. Ashton giggled, stony face breaking into a wide grin as he filmed Michael's flailing descent to the floor, blankets and all.

“Morning,” Ashton shouted. Across the room, Calum made a snuffling noise and sat bolt upright, reaching automatically for the cricket bat he kept by his bed in Australia and finding nothing but the wall.

“Ow,” Calum yelped as Michael tried to bury himself in the blankets. Ashton was near doubled over cackling now and Luke was braced in the doorway, sniggering.

“I fucking _hate you all_ ,” Calum said, cradling his hand close to his chest.

“Breakfast time,” Ashton sang, and bolted from the room. Michael growled and covered his head with a decisive _thump_ of the pillows. Calum untangled himself from the blankets and sleepily followed Ashton to the kitchen, leaving Michael be.

Half an hour later, when Calum returned, Michael was still on the floor, completely buried under the blankets. Gently, Calum peeled back layers of blankets and pillows to find Michael curled up as small as he could.

“Come on, up time,” Calum said, and shook Michael gently. Luke and Ashton had demanded the secret to waking Michael up without getting bitten, but really it was more the fact that it was Calum waking Michael than any actual trick Calum could employ.

Michael popped up, blinking blearily. “Wha?” he managed. There were creases on his cheek from the way his face had been pressed into the pillow.

Calum shook his head, giggling at Michael’s sleepy expression. “Want to help me move the beds?” he asked. Michael disentangled himself and dumped his blankets on the bed as Calum dragged the dressers out of the way.

Luke poked his head in just as they were remaking their beds, the two twins pushed together for a makeshift king with the dressers on either side. “Hey, we’re going to--what are you _doing_?”

“We’re increasing the snuggle potential,” Michael informed him solemnly, scooping the pile of pillows off the floor and dumping them at the head of the bed.

“If you wanted to tell us something, you totally could,” Luke said. Calum and Michael exchanged puzzled glances, then shrugged in unison.

“We share underwear,” Calum pointed out. “There’s not much you don’t already know about us at this point.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “It was _one time_.”

“It was not _one time_ , I can’t find my Pikachu boxers,” Michael said, and flopped down onto the big bed, content and ready for a nap now. Maybe he could coax Calum into scratching his head or something. “And I swear to _god_ , I saw them in your suitcase.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyways, me and Ash were going to go explore and see if we can take the Underground to Piccadilly Circus. Want to come?”

“I’m taking a nap,” Michael announced, and sprawled down onto the bed. “You do whatever, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Lemme grab my shoes,” Calum said, and patted at Michael’s head. “I’m not lazy like this asshole here.”

Michael flipped them off lazily, already closing his eyes. Calum dug a pair of sneakers out of his suitcase and switched the light off before following Luke down the stairs.

“So we’re going to the circus?”

“No, Piccadilly Circus.” Luke double-checked his pockets for his mobile and his wallet, and took the key ring with his name on it off the hall table. “It’s like Times Square, but London.”

Ashton came tearing out of the kitchen, hopping to get his shoes on. “The world’s biggest toy store is there, we’re going _right now_.”

“For your little siblings?” Luke asked innocently.

Ashton’s expression changed to something a little shifty. “Um. Sure, yeah. For them.” Calum stifled a giggle.

“We’re going to come back with the world’s largest teddy bear, aren’t we?”

“Well, probably not the _largest_ ,” Ashton said, and flounced out the door.

It didn’t take long for them to find the nearest Tube station, and only a little longer than that to refill their Oyster cards.

As they waited for the train, Luke nudged Calum on the arm. "You know we're pretty accepting, right?"

Calum hummed, fiddling with his Oyster Card. "Yeah, I guess."

"Like, we don't mind if any of us date a guy or a girl," Luke continued. Ashton nodded, texting someone on his phone.

Calum shrugged. "Yeah, my sister dates girls sometimes," he said, and pushed off the wall. "Hey, our train's here."

They didn’t return with a giant teddy bear, but Luke did find a giant plush penguin that he refused to leave the store without. They got a few odd looks wandering back through the London Underground, especially since Luke kept the penguin on his lap, having refused a bag at the store or even putting the damn thing on another seat.

Ashton was a little exasperated that Calum had evaded their pointed questions. He and Luke were _convinced_ that something was going on between Calum and Michael and hated that they were keeping secrets.

Maybe they’d been a little too subtle with Calum, so they took a different tack with Michael.

Ashton glanced at Luke, who didn't lower his NERF gun, holding it level with Michael's face.

"You know, you can tell us stuff, Michael," Ashton said conversationally. "Important stuff, even."

"I...do tell you important things?" Michael said, glancing between Ash and Luke confusedly.

"Luke, shoot him," Ashton said, and a foam bullet bounced off of Michael's forehead. Michael cringed away, but Ashton and Luke were blocking all the escape routes, unless he chose to go out the window. "See, we're a very positive band. We wouldn't mind if you dated someone."

"There's no one for me to date?" Michael said, and cringed as he got shot again. "Stop that!"

"We'd really love if you trusted us with your secrets," Luke said, reloading the NERF gun with another clip of foam darts. Michael glanced at the window as if he was seriously considering clambering out of it. "You know, like we've trusted you with ours."

"You wearing our underwear doesn't count as a secret," Michael pointed out and got shot twice for his trouble. "Fucking _stop_ that already!"

“If you, say, wanted to go on a date, with someone we all know, we’d one hundred percent support you.”

“Who the hell do we all know in London? Mama Liz? John? One of the guards at Buckingham Palace?” He blinked. “I mean, Gemma Styles is hot, but I thought you’d called dibs, Ashton.”

Ashton brought his water pistol up and got Michael in the chest. Michael shrieked, bringing his arms up to protect his face. Down the hall, Calum poked his head out of Luke and Ashton’s room and then charged them, firing off a pair of NERF pistols. Michael used the distraction to beat a hasty retreat, and Calum followed swiftly.

“I think we were being too subtle,” Luke said once their friends had locked themselves in the bathroom, presumably to plan revenge. Ashton stared at him in disbelief.

“There is no way we were being too subtle.”

“It’s _Michael_.”

“We might’ve been too subtle.”

Ashton facepalmed.

December drove on relentlessly. They went guitar shopping with some of the songwriters and a rep from the label, and got newer, more professional instruments. Calum promptly named his gorgeous new white and black bass guitar Josie, which Ashton and Michael teased him relentlessly for. It took two days for Michael to realize Calum had named her after a Blink song and a week for Ashton to stop laughing every time he saw Calum meticulously tuning her or just staring in pleased awe. Luke was equally pleased with his new guitar, and Michael pretended he wasn’t just as over the moon as Calum was. Ashton grumbled about wanting new drums but he wasn’t actually jealous so that was fine.

They explored London and made a video diary from their house; they went and played a show in Hyde Park. Ashton made jokes for three days straight about how they’d done one acoustic show in Sydney’s Hyde Park and now one in London’s Hyde Park.

Calum and Ashton started going for morning runs together. Calum hadn’t remembered how much his mind cleared and cycled through good ideas when he ran, so he resolved to run every morning.

On one of these runs, he and Ashton stopped at a Pret to pick up coffee and pastries for everyone (Ashton tried to order something with extra espresso and sheepishly changed his order to decaf when Calum glared at him), and Calum met a nice girl.

He felt weird describing her as _nice_ , even to himself, but she was fit and flirty, with wide brown eyes and bright, bubblegum pink hair. They’d chatted as they waited in line, and he’d gotten her number.

They texted, and--well, she sang and played video games and liked football, and she was gorgeous and seemed to like him. Asking her on a date felt like the right thing to do, so he did.

Calum didn’t tell anyone about her. Being around the band 24-7, there weren’t many secrets anymore. It was nice to have something to himself, especially when it was so new. He convinced himself that his band would just scare her away anyways.

He texted her while they were recording rough demos and in between sketching out new songs; she suggested a date one of the evenings he happened to be free.

Considering how nervous he was, he had to have known he couldn’t keep it a secret from his band. The day of the date, he probably changed his clothes a dozen times, and that probably clued Luke in. Missing movie night definitely clued everyone else in.

“Where’re you going?” Ashton called as he sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn cradled close to his chest. Michael immediately tumbled over the back, nearly knocking the popcorn all over the living room floor.

“Got a date,” Calum mumbled, hoping none of them would hear.

Of course, Luke chose that exact moment to tune in. “A date? With who?” Michael’s head popped over the top of the sofa like a goddamn meerkat, a strange look on his face.

“Just a girl I met on one of our runs,” Calum said, blushing. It was an odd look on him, usually the most shameless out of their quartet. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It _is_ ,” Ashton said, and thrust the bowl of popcorn at Michael so he could better goggle at Calum. “We’ve been here like a _week_ and you’ve already got a date.”

“Shut up, it’s been at least twice that,” Calum mumbled. “Right. I’m going now. Don’t call me.”

“We’re going to crank call you the whole date,” Luke called after him.

“I’m muting my phone!” Calum shot back, and was gone.

Michael was oddly sullen the whole evening. When Luke stretched out the length of the couch and refused to move over, Michael just crawled on top of him and stayed there, despite there being two perfectly good armchairs and a very squashy beanbag for him to inhabit. He bit at Luke’s shoulder, leaving a fairly dark love bite when Luke tried to get up to go to the bathroom, apparently having decided that Luke was his new favourite pillow.

Ashton kept giggling and taking photos of them on his phone, altogether too happy for Michael’s liking. Eventually, Ashton called it quits for the night and headed up to bed. Absently, Michael gave him the expected hard time about using a room to himself to jerk off but his heart just wasn’t in it.

Luke could probably tell, given that he let Michael keep using him as a personal pillow even when he was yawning and clearly exhausted.

Michael and Luke had both dozed off when Calum came back in a bad mood.

Calum slammed the door behind him and threw his keys at the table in the hall. Angry as he was, he still managed to hang up his coat, though his stomping woke Michael and Luke.

“How’d the--” Luke started to ask sleepily, but was cut off by Calum throwing his hat at him.

“Awful. It went awful,” Calum snapped, and that should’ve been the end of it--everyone knew Calum in a mood would cool off by morning.

 _Except_. Michael, for god knew what reason, decided to needle at Calum.

“Why’d it go awful?” he asked, a horrible smirk on his face. Luke was a second too late in realizing what would follow. When he tried to pull Michael away from the brewing fight, Michael shoved him away. Calum yelled in indignation on Luke’s behalf, and that was when the shouting really started.

It was a deeply uncomfortable fight that followed. Luke watched in frozen horror as Michael started to needle at Calum in quick efficient jabs. One of the downsides of having been friends so long was that they knew each and every soft spot. On a normal day, Michael would never use any of those soft spots, and neither would Calum, but both were furious and neither were feeling kind.

Calum was just as ruthless as Michael, shouting louder and louder with each retort. When Luke could finally move again, he took a step back, not wanting to get in between Michael and Calum when they were fighting. Neither of his bandmates even turned to look at him, so he darted up the stairs, away from the fight.

“Don’t fuck around with Luke if you’re just going to lead him on.”

Michael startled at the unexpected shot. “What the actual _hell_ , Calum?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Calum hissed.

“No, Calum, I _really_ don’t.”

“Oh, so you _weren’t_ flirting with Luke?”

Luke reappeared at the top of the stairs, Ashton trailing behind him, shirtless and rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Michael heard Ashton ask, but he was too focused on Calum to care.

“I would never, _ever_ date within the band,” Michael spat, picking a pillow up off the sofa and hurling it at Calum. The younger boy caught it, slightly stunned. “That’s stupid, that’s fucked up, and it would never, ever happen. Not in a million years. Not Luke, not Ash, and _not--fucking--you_.”

He grabbed an x-box controller and went to throw that, except that Ashton stepped between them, holding up his hands to stop them.

“You know what, Mikey,” Calum yelled, chucking the pillow back at Michael, right over Ashton’s head. He yanked his coat off the hook again. “I wish I’d never agreed to join this stupid fucking band, I wish I’d stayed in footie, and I wish I’d _never met you_.”

Calum left before he could see the crumpled look on Michael’s face, slamming the door behind him as violently as he could manage.

“ _What on Earth is going on here_?” Mama Liz said as she descended the stairs, tightening the belt of her dressing gown.

“I’m going to smash everything he owns,” Michael said, eerily calm. He started towards the stairs, expression entirely blank. “Starting with his bass and his acoustic.”

Ashton closed his eyes and exhaled long and hard. He picked up his coat and his phone, taking his keys off the hook by the door. “I’ll go find Calum and talk him down. Luke, keep Michael from destroying everything in the house.” Luke nodded and took off, scrambling past his mother to follow Michael.

Liz followed her son.

“Michael, come out of the bathroom,” Luke was saying tiredly when she caught up. He was knocking repeatedly on the bathroom door.

“What happened?” Liz asked, folding her arms. “Where did Ashton and Calum go?”

“Michael and Calum got into a fight,” Luke said, tipping his head back and yawning. “Michael’s locked himself in the bathroom and won’t come out, and Ashton went to find Calum since he left without his keys.”

Liz blinked, processing. “Michael and Calum are fighting?”

Luke nodded and tried knocking again. “Michael, come _on_. You can’t hide in there forever.”

“I can try,” Michael called back, his voice wobbling.

“If I promise to switch rooms with Calum, will that make you come out of the bathroom?” Luke asked. The door unlocked with a defeated click, swinging inwards.

Michael’s eyes were red-rimmed and he was rubbing at his face like the tears hurt. He shuffled towards Luke, burying his face in Luke’s sleep shirt. Liz reached out and carded her fingers through his hair before nodding at Luke and retreating to her room.  “Cuddle?”

“Yeah, we can cuddle,” Luke said. He fished out his phone and texted Ashton.

To: Ash UK

_can michael switch rooms with you?_

From: Ash UK

_shit. that bad?_

From: Ash UK

_yeah i’ll move my stuff in the morning_

To: Ash UK

_thnx_

“Come on, Michael,” Luke said, and hugged Michael as best he could. “You can sleep in mine and Ashton’s tonight, we’ll move stuff around tomorrow.”

Michael clung to Luke's side, shuffling along when Luke edged towards his door. "Thanks," he mumbled, sounding tired and defeated and a hell of a lot of other things Luke never wanted to hear in his best friend's voice ever again.

He carefully nudged Michael onto his bed and tucked him in, crawling in next to him. They shared beds and hotels enough for it to not be awkward, but it was a tight fit, two tall lanky boys and a twin-sized bed. Luke could understand why Michael and Calum had decided to push their beds together.

Despite their closeness, Michael curled up even tighter, into a ball, and pushed into Luke’s space. It took Luke a moment to realize that Michael was shaking, and another moment to realize it was because he was crying.

Luke petted at his hair, humming softly, and let Michael cry himself out. Sometime around three am, Michael fell asleep.

Carefully, Luke disentangled himself from Michael's hold and crept out of the room.

Ashton and Calum were on the couch in the living room, Calum tucked up tight like a pill bug with his head in Ashton's lap. The TV was on in the background, playing an Indiana Jones movie.

"How is he?" Ashton asked when he noticed that Luke had appeared.

Luke shrugged, sneaking a look at Calum, who looked sound asleep.

"Mikey? He locked himself in the bathroom and cried for a few hours.  He finally cried himself to sleep about twenty minutes ago." Luke sighed and sat on the sofa, careful not to jostle Calum. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"It's just a fight. They're not going to endanger the band," Ashton said, calm and reasonable. "It matters too much to them."

"If they're not talking to each other, I'd say the band's pretty endangered," Luke said, and tipped his head onto Ashton's shoulder. "You can't have a guitarist and a bassist who don't talk to each other."

"They had a fight," Ashton said, chuckling a little. "It's not the end of the world or the end of their friendship. They'll make up in a week. Remember the time Calum put sugar in all the salt shakers at Michael’s house, and salt in all the sugar bowls?"

Luke nodded. He and Ashton spent the night that weekend and he had been an unfortunate victim with some seriously salty oatmeal for breakfast. Michael, who ate his oatmeal with approximately half a kilo of sugar, had nearly choked out his lungs. Ashton had escaped salty death by having chosen to eat cold cereal; Calum had cackled gleefully at the look on Michael's face. Michael had refused to talk to Calum for three days and had passive aggressively made life difficult for all three of them until Calum had apologized and let Michael beat him in four straight rounds of FIFA.

"Yeah," Luke said. He grimaced a little. "That was a prank. This was Calum running away and Michael locking himself in the bathroom over Calum having a date."

"It's not about the date," Ashton pointed out quietly. "Well, maybe a little. It’s about Michael realizing Calum’s not all his all the time, and it was Calum realizing he maybe _wants_ to be Michael’s all the time.” He tipped his head back and yawned. “They’ll sort it out when they realize the only outcomes here are talking about it and dealing with it, or going back to being friends and _not_ dealing with it. They can’t stay like this.”

The days that followed were awful, Michael and Calum pointedly avoiding each other one on one. In a group they were fine, joking around as if nothing had changed, but whenever it came down to the two of them, someone would make an excuse and bail.

Luke offered to switch a songwriting session, so that he and Calum would go into work on a song together, claiming that he and Ashton didn't mesh well stylistically. True as that might have been, Calum knew it was at least partially because he and Michael were still fighting, and Luke writing with Ashton would leave Calum to write with Michael. It was an unspoken agreement they had going--in this particular war, Ashton was on Calum’s side, Luke on Michael’s, and Liz was neutral.

It was strange, being at odds with Michael. They'd never truly fought, and certainly hadn't since the band had started. On the other hand, it was awesome to be spending more time with Luke and Ashton one-on-one. Since Michael had always been his number one best friend, he'd never taken the time to discover how sarcastic Luke was or how much of a prankster Ashton was, given the opportunity. Well, he had, but he’d never in as much depth.

The shuffled writing sessions caused some interesting songs to be written. Usually their writing teams were Luke/Calum and Michael/Ashton, but they’d decided to switch up the groupings before the fight. A second hurried shuffle meant that Luke and Michael were working together, leaving Calum and Ashton to attempt something.

It was a little weird, having the rhythm section work together--god alone knew what horrific bassline would come out of Luke and Michael’s writing sessions--but it was fun. Of course, Ashton took the opportunity of having Calum on his own to try to broker peace.

“You should apologize.”

Calum snorted. “Michael started it. Michael can apologize.”

“He might’ve picked the fight but you didn’t exactly stop him.” Ashton kicked at Calum’s ankle. “Come on. Be the bigger man, or whatever.”

“No.” Calum crossed his arms over the body of his treasured acoustic guitar. “I get that you and Luke want me and Mikey to be best mates again, but I’m still really fucking pissed. He started it, he can apologize. Can we get back to work on this song already?”

Thankfully, Ashton dropped it. The song they wrote wasn’t necessarily _good_ \--they’d need Luke to refine the guitar parts and probably another writing session to smooth out the lyrics somewhat, but it had a kickass bassline and a killer drumbeat. As far as their songs went, it probably wouldn’t end up on an EP or an album, but with a little more work it might turn into a b-side, maybe.

Calum had forgotten how fun it was to write with Ashton. He was the first person Calum had really co-written with, after writing Gotta Get Out on his own. None of their early stuff was remotely usable (not even some of the chords were salvageable from those messy songs) but still, it was easy to fall into a steady writing partnership again.

Over the course of the week, Calum wrote with Ashton and Luke but never Michael, and, like Ashton, Luke tried to resolve the tension. His strategy, though, was a little different. Calum kept finding chocolate pound and euro coins in his pockets, and it seemed Michael was receiving sour lemon drops. Luke’s reparative tactics seemed to consist of copious amounts of sweets and abandoning Calum and Michael together. While the candy was nice, forcing Michael and Calum to interact had resulted in a fair few more fights.

Calum figured that Luke was trying whatever strategy had worked on his older brothers, ever the peacemaker in a family of rowdy boys. Calum, though, was used to longer, more stubborn fights with Mali-Koa. Michael, as an only child, wasn’t responding to sibling-style tactics at all.

Honestly, Calum was tired of fighting but he also wasn’t going to be the first to cave. He cooled down faster than Michael did, and was tired of making everything awkward for Luke and Ashton. Michael, though, held grudges. He wasn’t going to apologize until Calum did, and there was no way in hell Calum was going to apologize for a fight that Michael started.

Michael got so snippy that even being in the same room as Calum set off another shouting match, and it got to the point that Liz decided to intervene.

“Michael,” Liz said after a particularly nasty fight where Calum had flounced off to sulk and Michael was viciously killing aliens on the xbox. She took her coat off the hook by the door, leaving no room for argument. “You’re helping me with dinner tonight.”

“Yes, Mumma Liz,” Michael said, dropping the controller onto Luke’s lap. “If you fuck up my save file--” he started, before flinching at Liz’s admonishing “ _Michael Clifford_.”

Liz didn’t talk on the walk to the store, which made Michael feel like he was in big trouble. She wasn’t even his mum, but she might as well have been for how he was making him feel.

“You know, I had doubts when Luke told me he was forming a band with you,” she said finally as they walked into the Sainsbury’s, brightly lit and warm against the chill outside. “He’s my baby boy, I’ve always worried about him more than his brothers.”

Michael looked at her in confusion--he was taller than her now, had been for a while. Sometimes it was hard to remember she didn’t just take care of the four of them, but that Luke had older brothers she’d raised as well. “What do you mean?”

“Luke’s never taken the road easier followed,” she said with a sigh, putting in a pound coin to unlock the trolley. “He’s always been good at giving me grey hairs. Dropping out of school, joining a band, being the only one of my boys to not be entirely straight…”

“Wait, _what_?”

Liz gave Michael an alarmed look. “Has he not told you? Forget I said anything.”

“No, he told us, I just didn’t know he’d told--”

“Me? Luke tells me a lot, actually. You don’t think I’d’ve let him come to London if I didn’t trust him, did you?” They picked up a carton of milk and a few tubs of yogurt, Michael trying to sneak the sweeter kinds in while Liz picked out the healthier kind loaded with berries. “He’s a good boy. He told me about you and Calum, actually.”

“Whatever he said, he’s wrong--”

“Let me finish, Michael.” She added another carton of milk, probably remembering how much cereal they went through in a day. She pushed the trolley towards the produce section, Michael trailing behind obediently. “You’re my boys too, you and Calum and Ashton. I want you to be happy. If you broke Luke’s heart, I’d have to take his side, of course, but it’s you and Calum I’m worried about at the moment, not Luke.”

“Calum and I are fine.”

“You were screaming at each other at three in the morning, Michael, that’s far from fine.” She sighed, picked out a tub of strawberries for Ashton. “Want to tell me what happened, or should I guess?”

Michael shrugged helplessly and pushed the trolley along behind Liz as she put bananas and apples in. “Calum went on a bad date, I was tired, we yelled, and now I’m sharing a room with Luke.”

Liz hummed. “So if it had been Ashton who’d gone on the bad date, you’d’ve reacted the same way?” She pointed to a stack of onions. “Get me three of those? Smooth ones, flatter ones, without bruised bits.”

“Ashton doesn’t get mad like Cal does,” Michael said, and fetched the onions for her.

“You and Calum are special to each other, aren’t you,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. “You know why I had doubts about you as a band?” Liz picked up a potato, inspected it, and put it in the bag Michael was holding for her. He shook his head no. “Two years ago, Luke told me he had a crush on this boy at school in his music class.” She picked out two more potatoes. Michael was frozen, listening to her tell this story. “But that I shouldn’t worry about him bringing a boy home anytime soon--Calum Hood’s boyfriend Michael was pretty protective.”

Michael nearly dropped the bag. “What?”

“Mm. He said he was pretty sure that you knew about his crush and hated him for it. Imagine my surprise when, six months later, you two were showing up on my doorstep to play guitar with him.” She sighed, moved on to the tomatoes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you weren’t dating, but that I could see why Luke might’ve thought you were.”

Michael didn't know what to say; Liz just watched him with calm, knowing eyes.

"Granted, at this point, you could probably assume the same with any of you four," she said, offering Michael an out. She reached out and patted his cheek gently, and tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “Considering how close you all are. But remember that Cal was your best friend long before any of this started, and maybe you should consider how important your friendship is and how important this fight is."

Michael flushed and looked down at his feet. “Sorry, Mama Liz.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” she said, and straightened up. “Now. You run and get bread and Nutella, and I’ll get chicken and some more rice.”

They finished Liz’s list and went through the line to pay, Michael attempting to sneak in packets of gum and Liz putting them back.

“You’re still helping me with dinner,” Liz said, once they were burdened down with their groceries and she’d returned the trolley for her pound coin. “All four of you’ll know how to make at least one thing other than cereal and toast by the time I’m done with you.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve onions,” Michael said immediately, struggling to keep the bag with the milk from cutting into his wrist. “Or pickles.”

Liz blinked. “It’s a good curry,” she said, sighing and reaching over to adjust the bag for him. “There’s some onion, but if you put it in the food processor it gets all small so you can’t see or taste it.”

“I don’t like onion,” Michael said sadly.

“I don’t like when my boys fight, so you can eat a few onions.” She raised an eyebrow when Michael rolled his eyes. “Don’t sass me, Michael Gordon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

\--

Michael regretted switching rooms with Ashton, especially on Christmas morning. Apparently his new roommate was an alien from the other side of the solar system and actually _liked_ being awake before noon. On Christmas morning, he was apparently a four year old with no sense of self-preservation because he woke Michael up at _six in the bloody morning_.

Michael snarled at him and rolled back over, groaning when a very cold and somewhat petulant Luke just crawled in under the sheets with him.

“It’s Christmas,” Luke stage-whispered. Michael batted a hand at him and buried his head until a pillow.

“I’m going to kill you,” Michael said, and flumped back down.

“It’s Christmas! Mum makes french toast and we open presents, and we’re going to skype with everyone back home.”

Michael opened a sleepy eye and shoved Luke off the bed.

It didn’t take long for Luke to crawl on top of him, nestling into the curve of Michael’s body. He pressed his nose into the back of Michael’s neck and stilled.

“It’s Christmas,” he whispered after a minute. Michael had just slipped back into that state where everything was pleasantly blurry and tired, and couldn’t bring himself to elbow Luke in the stomach like he should have.

“Christmas is cancelled. Go bother Ashton,” he managed, and fell back asleep.

He woke up an hour later being cuddled, and Calum glaring angrily at him.

“Breakfast in ten minutes,” he said shortly, and left.

Michael’s morning brain tried to sort out the input--usually when he slept with someone on top of him it was Calum, but if Calum was mad it wasn’t Calum cuddling him.

He rolled over, dumping whoever it was onto the floor.

Ashton jerked awake as he hit the floor with a thud. “Oww,” he moaned, and then snorted, bursting into peals of laughter. Michael couldn’t help but snicker at Ashton’s expression. “That hurt,” Ashton continued through his giggles. “Why’m I laughing?”

“Ow,” Michael repeated, and disentangled himself from his blankets. “What’re you doing here?”

"Getting away from Luke," Ashton grumbled. "Bloody morning person."

Mama Liz had, in fact, made french toast, and then, once the syrupy plates were in the sink, they passed gifts around the table to be opened.

No one mentioned that neither Michael nor Calum had given each other gifts.

“I’m going to Skype my parents,” Michael announced, once he’d worked out the time differential and was reasonably certain he wasn’t going to be calling at three in the morning. It was nine hours different, but he could never remember if London was nine ahead or nine behind. Calum, who usually leapt at the opportunity to talk to Michael’s mum, didn’t even look up from his mobile. Liz and Luke were working on making dinner, and Ashton was already playing the game Michael had gotten him.

Stretching, Michael wandered down the hall and pushed open the door, the sound of the Christmas carols the Hemmings were playing in the kitchen fading the further he went. He stopped short at the sight of a small mountain of presents on his bed. They were wrapped in the shiny green paper Calum had used, stacked haphazardly and ready to topple over. He stared at the pile--some small enough they could only be guitar picks and some large enough they could literally be anything--and wondered why Calum had left these here.

He sat on the edge of his bed and poked at the pile a little bit, digging until he found a card. He had to smile at the wrappings--Calum was awful at it, could never figure out how to wrap anything that wasn’t a perfect cube, and even then he’d never cut enough paper or there’d be too much tape. It made him smile a bit to think about Calum sitting cross-legged on his bed, face screwed up in concentration as he wrapped his presents. The effort was clear, even if the end result wasn’t the neatest.

Michael tore open the envelope, stifling a snort at the pink Hello Kitty birthday card, with Happy 2nd Birthday crossed out and Merry Christmas written in. Some jokes never, _ever_ died, apparently.

 _Merry Christmas, Mikey_ was scrawled across the inside in Calum’s precise handwriting. _I know, it’s like eighty million things, but they made me think of you. Now you don’t have an excuse for not having a spare pick for me to borrow._ Calum had drawn a silly smiley face next to the Hello Kitty drawing on the inside of the card, and then bad doodles of varying emoticons, and Michael bit his lip to keep from smiling. He sorted through the pile of presents, finding the handful of individually wrapped picks. Michael tore the tape off and crumpled up the paper, inspecting each pick--they ranged from All Time Low to Green Day to ones with cool patterns to a few Calum had clearly drawn on with sharpie himself.

Michael flicked them through his fingers, poured the dozen or so of them from hand to hand.

 _I found the Blink 182 t-shirt in the market I went to with Ashton ages ago. I probably should’ve given it to you for your birthday but I sort of lost it for a while. But I found it!!_ Michael found a soft package of the right size and carefully opened it, pulling out a battered vintage t-shirt--the one he’d been bitching about being unable to find for about a year now. It was clean and smelled like the laundry detergent the Hoods used.

 _I got you a couple of stickers, some black Xs and some white Xs. You got me the LOVE sticker for my bass, so I thought--what’s the text symbol for love? an X. So I got you a bunch to put on your guitars--you can have matching stickers on all of them!--but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. We could just stick them in Luke’s hair._ Michael found the envelope with the stickers in, and smiled at them--he’d been looking for something to put on his guitars without looking like he was copying Calum or being too matchy-matchy, and Calum had found just the right thing.

 _Two of the CDs are by Every Avenue, and I know you said you’d never listen to them but just give them a shot, you’ll love them, I promise. If you don’t I’ll get you tickets to go to Warped as an apology. There’s also an AC/DC cover band compilation in there by a ukulele choir, and I laughed so hard thinking of your expression when I saw it I just had_ _to get it for you._ The CDs were the only things wrapped neatly, three of them with crisp edges and cellophane wrapping underneath Calum’s green paper. He already knew he’d love them, since Calum was so insistent--he’d been holding out more for Calum’s reaction and enthusiastic speeches about why Michael would love them than of any real objection to Every Avenue as a band.

_I’m running out of room to write, and there’s a bunch of other stuff that made me think of you, so. You’re getting lots of presents, I haven’t got an excuse to give them to you any other time. I got Mama Liz to help me wrap everything, but I used a whole roll of Sellotape, so sorry about that. I’m going to steal everything I’ve given you, just so you know. Love you bro, Calum. XX_

There was a post-script underneath in different coloured pen, sloppy like Calum had rushed through it.

_PS: I know we’re fighting, but I couldn’t just not give you your presents. You’re my best friend, and I do love you. Merry Christmas, Mikey._

Michael bit his lip to hold in his smile and set the card down, tucking it back into the envelope. He opened the half-dozen other presents, ranging from a truly excellent NERF gun (it came with a sticky note warning about what horrible things would happen to Michael if he used it on Calum) to a super soft jumper in dark blue.

Immediately, he pulled his Christmas sweater off and pulled on the new jumper, revelling in the smell that always, always reminded him of Calum.

Cosy in his new jumper, he opened his laptop and immediately received a barrage of messages from his family on skype, wishing him and the boys Merry Christmas. He sent a call request to his mum and spent half an hour talking to his cousins before his mum confiscated the laptop.

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping well,” Karen said, finally taking the laptop into the guest room at his aunt’s. She looked so far away through the screen. “Everything okay?”

Michael shrugged. “I’m homesick.”

His mum looked doubtful, but she was also good friends with Mama Liz, so she probably knew all about his fight with Calum.

“It’s weird being away for Christmas,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Luke woke me up at like six in the morning, but we didn’t open presents until an hour ago. Luke’s mum made french toast and she’s got something in the oven for tonight.”

It was strangely easier to talk to his mum now that he was away; he’d always got the feeling she was never quite certain what to do with him. Maybe it was because his mum had never been very good with little kids, and she was only now figuring out how to talk to him now that he had a proper job. Or maybe it was because they saw each other less so they had more to say when they talked.

Either way, it was kind of nice to talk to his mum. They chatted until Ashton knocked on the door.

“Hey, have you seen my--oh! Hi, Mumma Clifford!”

While Ashton talked to Michael's mother--really, his ability to convince their parents that they were good boys and entirely trustworthy 100% of the time was enviable--Michael dug out the present he'd painstakingly wrapped in a dozen layers of paper and slipped into Luke and Calum's room to set it on Calum's bed.

When he came back, Ashton was speaking in a low voice, and immediately cut off when Michael re-entered the room.

“Talking to my mum?” Michael usually would be annoyed that clearly they were talking behind his back, but he was still feeling warm and cosy about Calum’s presents.

Ashton had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

“We just worry about you,” Karen said, and changed the topic to the snowflakes she saw through the window behind Ashton. Michael sat on the bed and rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder, weirdly exhausted.

Michael’s mum signed off when Michael started to doze; Ashton closed the laptop and pulled Michael to his feet so they could go help Luke and Calum prepare Mumma Liz’s Christmas dinner.

A smile flickered across Calum’s face when he saw Michael in the jumper. When he saw Michael looking his way, he immediately returned to mashing potatoes, deliberately not looking at Michael.

“Mum, did you want wine glasses on the table?” Luke asked, handing a stack of plates to Michael, who jolted in surprise and nearly dropped them.

“Well, Ashton and I are both of age,” she said, glancing at Ashton and the salad he was assembling. “But it’s Christmas. Might as well put them out for everyone.”

Michael carried the plates to the table and helped Luke lay it, running back and forth to fetch water glasses and silverware. Ashton moved his salad to the table and started helping Mama Liz move the finished dishes to the table.

“That should be everything,” Liz said finally, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes from Calum and shooing him towards the table. “Come on, sit down, food will get cold.”

Calum shot a wary smile at Michael across the table, and Michael returned it hesitantly. He folded the overlong sleeves of the jumper over his palms and fidgeted with the hem. Liz set the last dish on the table and looked at the four of them.

“Well,” she said. “We’re a bit far from home and it’s not a big fuss, but... Merry Christmas, boys.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama Liz,” Ashton, Calum, and Michael chorused, while Luke just stuck to “Merry Christmas, Mum.”

She sat at the head of the table and clapped her hands. “Well, dig in, I didn’t make you all help me cook for nothing. I don’t _think_ anything’s toxic enough to kill anyone, but we’ll see.”

The table exploded into movement, dishes crossing the table and servings being portioned out. Michael attempted to keep all the mashed potatoes for himself, only to be kicked under the table viciously--it could’ve been either Calum or Luke, since he was sitting next to Ashton and he didn’t think Liz would _kick_ him--and Ashton nearly spilled the gravy, and Liz made sure they all had adequate servings of vegetables no matter how much Luke made faces.

“To family away from home,” Liz said once they had full plates. She lifted her wine glass, and everyone else followed suit. Michael glanced to Calum and looked away when he realized Calum was doing the same thing.

Luke insisted that they all go out for a walk after dinner, to let all the food settle before they came back to tackle the truly enormous variety of cookies and sweets Liz had made. As such, they bundled up in their coats and scarves and wandered outside.

Calum and Luke loaded up their NERF guns and raced down the street shouting, sounding more like over-eager five year olds than sixteen year olds with an actual career ahead of them.

Michael kept his headphones on and his hands shoved in his pockets, trailing behind the group as Ashton chatted with Liz. Or he did, at least, until Luke managed to splash Ashton from one of London’s perpetual puddles and Ashton tore off after him, shrieking indignantly. Michael let his headphones drop to hang around his neck, Christmas carols blasting tinnily into the air.

“Hey, Calum,” Michael called, and Calum gave him a glance, slowing warily. Ashton and Luke were far ahead of them, Luke attempting to outrun Ashton and his dripping wet jacket. Liz smiled at Michael and sped up a bit, hurrying to scold Luke for getting Ashton wet in the first place. “I--” he started, and tried again. “I’m really--oh, fuck it.”

Sighing, he bit the bullet and hugged Calum tightly. Immediately, Calum was hugging him back, warm as always, smelling just like _home_.

“Thank you,” Michael said, clinging to Calum. He buried his cold nose in Calum’s neck, worming his hands under Calum’s jacket. “The presents are amazing.”

Calum’s hands came to rest on Michael’s hips, pulling him in even closer. “You’re welcome,” he said. “M’sorry for yelling.”

“M’sorrier.” Michael blinked, eyelashes giving Calum tickly butterfly kisses across his neck. “Trade rooms back?”

“I think Luke might kill you, Ashton snores.”

Michael snorted and clung a little tighter when the wind gusted around them, breezing through straight through his clothes. “He can deal.”

“He can deal,” Calum agreed. He took one of Michael’s earbuds and put it in, not even wincing at the volume level. Michael put the other one in and leaned against Calum, sighing contentedly now that everything was back to normal.

 

 ==

 **JANUARY 2013** \--Ashton 18, Michael 17, Calum 16/17, Luke 16

==

 

"So," Michael said, grinning in the way that meant someone was going to be yelling at them soon. "Guess what I found out?"

"Luke's been stealing your underwear,” Calum said immediately. “I'm sorry but it was the only way to keep him from stealing mine and you totally know why that would end well, and no, I'm not helping you build an underwear slingshot to take revenge and neither will Ashton, you're on your own."

"First of all, it's not a slingshot, it's a _trebuchet_ , and I'm going to get Niall to collect all the panties thrown at them during the tour so I can load it full. Also, fuck no you're not helping, I need someone to recollect the ammo for multiple fires and you hate when Luke steals your pants as much as I do.”

“Are you going to be able to get it through airport security?”

“If I declare it and check it, yeah.” Michael blinked. “I came here to talk to you about something.”

“The trebuchet?”

“Not the trebuchet. Oh! Want to help me dye my hair?”

“Is Liz going to kill us?”

“Probably.”

“What color?”

Michael grinned. “I was thinking black.”

==

Michael sat on the bathroom floor and felt Calum run his hands through his clean, dry hair.

“You sure about this?” Calum said doubtfully.

“It’s going to be _great_.”

“Okay,” Calum said doubtfully, and put on the gloves. It took thirty minutes to apply all the dye, and another forty for it to set. They left Calum’s laptop running, _Symphony Soldier_ on in the background. Michael sang along softly as Calum carefully got all of his roots.

Calum helped wash the excess dye out when it was set, long gentle fingers massaging at Michael’s scalp and causing him to moan shamelessly.

‘You really like having your hair played with,” Calum said, as if this was new information.

“We've been friends how long now?” Michael retorted, and shut up as Calum tugged on a lock behind his ear. Michael's hair ended up needing another layer of to get the color he wanted. Calum helped him with it, muttering about how Ashton was going to kill them.

The end result was Michael with dark hair somewhere in between dark brown and pure black. It was jarring for Calum, who so to seeing Michael with blond hair that Michael's dark hair was outright bizarre.

Ashton just sighed and choose not to comment. Luke spent a week staring and double taking every time he saw Michael.

That seemed to be the default reaction to his new hair. The secretary at the label complimented it when they went in for a meeting in early January. Several people they’d become familiar with commented on how it was easier to tell the blonds in the band apart now, further cementing Michael’s decision to never go back to his normal hair color.

For some reason, both Luke and Ashton were on edge about the meeting. Michael just figured that they’d be discussing an album contract, like they’d been in the past handful of meetings, now that the EP was out. There was a general understanding that they’d be staying with Sony and Capitol Records; there’d been an interim contract once their EP was out covering this songwriting trip and the next six months or so, but nothing was concrete beyond that.

None of them were in any way actually prepared for what the label meeting was actually about, especially when Adam turned up inexplicably.

Michael didn’t remember much of the meeting afterwards--he was generally awful at paying attention during meetings, confident that Ashton and Luke would ask the appropriate questions and fill him in later--but he did remember the exact moment the question was asked.

Ashton had managed some sort of excuse along the lines of needing more time to think, Adam waved them off with a promise to meet later and they headed home.

“ _One Direction_?” Luke asked incredulously, once they were back at the house. “We’re being asked to open for One fucking Direction?”

“Language,” Liz reprimanded, though Luke just barrelled on.

“Are we really that boybandy?” He headed for the kitchen and pulled a mug down from the cupboard, probably to make tea. “I thought we were a little more punk than that.”

“Other than the fact that we’re boys and in a band, we’re not really boybandy,” Ashton said. “Hey, Luke, get me a mug too?”

“Coffee, tea, or cocoa?”

“Tea, please.”

“We have to do it,” Michael said abruptly. “We came to London to build success—we do a world tour and do it well, and we have better opportunities going forward.”

Calum crossed the kitchen to start making cocoa for himself and Michael. He hip-checked Luke out of the way to get the milk out of the fridge.

“We don’t have enough experience,” Ashton said. Liz sat in the corner and let the four of them work this out. “We can’t play a world tour when we’ve barely played shows back home, much less anywhere outside our own country.”

“New Zealand,” Calum pointed out. “We played in New Zealand.”

“But how do we get that experience?” Michael argued, ignoring Calum. “By agreeing and playing these shows, we get that experience, and then we can even tour on our own.”

“We don’t have enough original material—“

“And we’re writing that material right now! We have an EP, and people like our covers. We can road-test our songs and we have access to a good PR team and good song-writers. Come on, what’s so bad about this?”

“We still have a year of school left!”

“Well, Ash is done, and I don’t plan on going back, and Liz is a teacher anyways, and if we accepted she said she would be able to homeschool us anyways—“

“We don’t have a guarantee she’d do that—“

“Well, she’s there, ask her!”

Calum listened stoically as an argument broke out. Michael was bound and determined that they had to accept the offer while Ashton wasn’t budging from his position of _not a chance in hell_. Luke wavered between opinions, while Calum himself remained quiet. Liz just watched, a little weary.

When Michael groaned in frustration and stormed out, Calum shrugged off his bandmates and went to follow him.

“Michael,” Calum called. Michael went faster, trying to get to the front door before Calum caught up. He was pulling his coat off the rack when Calum caught his wrist. “Hey. Mikey.”

“Go _away_ , Calum.”

“What’s the real reason you want to go on tour with One Direction?”

“Right to it, huh?”

“ _Mikey._ ”

“You gave up football,” Michael said abruptly, shaking his arm out of Calum’s grasp and pulling his coat off the hook. Calum grabbed his own and followed Michael out the door. “You were going to be a star, you were so _good_.”

“I was okay, nothing great—“

“You were so, so good, Callie. You’re good at songwriting too, and people need to see that, and this gives us a chance to show everyone how amazing you are.” Michael’s tone was so earnest but he refused to look Calum in the eye as they turned to walk down the street, into the puddles of light cast by the dusty streetlamps.

“Mikey—“

“No! We have to make this worth it, and isn’t _this_ worth it? We can negotiate our contract, we can sign to a better label and get an album deal and have promo and everything _._ We’ve been working for this since we recorded the EP, and Cal, if we turn this down, who knows when the next chance will come along? They want _us,_ Cal, they don’t want us to change our sound or start dancing or what the fuck ever, and it’s an opportunity to do what we want to do. You dropped out of football for this and now you don’t want to sign? We have to at least _try_.”

“Michael, we both know that’s not the only reason.” Calum slipped his hand into the crook of Michael’s elbow and clung on tight enough that Michael couldn’t shake him off. He slowed their pace down to a stroll and stroked his free hand down Michael’s arm, waiting. They were almost to the Tube station when Michael actually spoke again.

“I can’t go back to school,” he said, quiet. “There’s no way I can finish school and get an ATAR high enough to go anywhere, and I’ll barely be able to get my HSC. I just, I don’t know. I haven’t a chance of getting anywhere with anything except the band. You’ve always got footie to fall back on, and Ash is smart. Luke could do anything. _I_ need this, Calum, and…I can’t really live with the guilt that I made you quit the thing you loved most in the world for the thing I loved most if we can’t go anywhere worthwhile with it.”

“Okay.”

Michael froze, halfway down the steps into the Tube. “Okay?”

“Okay. I’m on your side.”

“Yeah?”

“I promise, Mikey. I’m always on your side, aren’t I?”

Michael threw himself at Calum. “Thank you thank you _thank you_.”

“Let’s get off the stairs before we start tackling,” Calum said, but hugged him back just as tight. “It’s 2 v 2 now,” he said when they pulled apart. He slung an arm around Michael’s shoulders and followed him down towards the ticket turnstiles. “Our parents have to get involved for decisions.”

“Liz was already involved,” Michael pointed out, but fished out his mobile. “What time is it in Sydney?”

Calum checked his watch. “Uh, like. 3 am-ish, I think?”

“So we call them at like, midnight?”

“Probably.” Calum shrugged. “Want to go get ice cream or something?”

Michael gave Calum a deadpan look. “It’s freezing out.”

“Your point?”

Michael broke out in a wide, easy grin. “I want mint.”

Calum made a face. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m going to mix it with Haribo, too.”

When they finally ended back up at the house, Ashton had his arms folded over his chest and was glaring at Michael.

“Well?” he demanded. “Did you talk some sense into him? Did you change his mind?”

“Yes,” Michael said, causing Ashton to twitch in surprise. Michael smirked. “Cal agrees with me.”

“I kind of agree too,” Luke chipped in. He’d been busy in the however-long Michael and Calum had been gone, and had two lists in front of him, neatly labelled ‘Pro’ and ‘Con’. “But I definitely see Ashton’s points.”

“Not you too, Luke,” Ashton groaned. “No! We can’t do this!”

“And why not?” Michael asked, unwinding his scarf. “Why can’t we take this absolutely incredible opportunity given to us?”

Mama Liz just kept sipping on her tea as they dissolved into an argument. The next three hours were spent shouting in one of the loudest arguments they had ever had, probably. Luke and Calum switched sides countless times while Ashton and Michael remained immovable on their stances. Liz only got involved when Michael tried to throw a stapler and a stainless steel saucepan at Ashton, “to see if _this_ will get through his thick skull!”

Eventually, four pizzas and Luke’s pro-con lists later, they settled enough to actually make a decision.

“I want to get my leaving cert still,” Luke said. He was leaned back in his chair now, having demolished most of a pizza on his own. His mum was scratching at the fine hairs behind his ears. “I’m pretty much halfway there, and I want my HSC.”

“If you do go on tour, I’ll be with you until Luke is old enough to handle himself, as a condition,” Liz said. Like Luke, she had a pad filled with notes, though unlike her son, hers was actually legible. “Joy and Karen would probably agree with me that you need a chaperone. I’m certified to manage distance learning, so Luke can get his HSC, and Michael and Calum can as well if they want.” Luke went to fill his cup with the last of the cola just as Ashton did, and they devolved into a squabble about who would get it. At some point they’d switched from hot drinks to cold; Calum hoped someone was keeping an eye on Ashton’s caffeine intake.

“I don’t think I want to,” Michael said. He was on his fifth piece of pizza and showed no sign of slowing down. “But if it’s a condition of getting on tour, then…I’ll do it.”

“Take that up with your mum, dear,” Liz said, and tapped the next point on her list with the capped tip of her pen. “All of this hinges on Joy and Karen agreeing, boys, so you’d better get your arguments ready.”

“What about Ashton’s heart thing?” Calum said, and bickering between Ashton and Luke ground to a halt. “Would--would doing this make him sicker?”

“M’not _sick_ in the first place,” Ashton grumbled. “And--well. That’s not really what I’m worried about anyways. But it is a good point!” he waved his pen vaguely at Michael.

“So what’s the holdup, then?” Michael demanded exasperatedly. “It won’t make you sick, we three wanna do it, and you’re just being a _dick_ about it at this point!”

“Michael,” Liz warned, but there was no heat behind it.

“Seriously, mate,” Michael continued. “Banding. Full time. World tour. Access to vocal coaches and instrument techs all day every day. An opportunity to get Gemma Styles’ number.”

“Fuck off,” Ashton said at the last point, flushing. He earned himself a swat on the ear from Liz, who, really should’ve given up on correcting their language by now. “No, it’s--I don’t want us to get roped into being like them, I guess? I mean. They’re a boyband. Everyone’s more focused on who they’re dating rather than how they sing, and they do songs other people wrote for them.”

“We kinda do too--” Luke started to interject but Ashton just barreled on.

“It’s good music, I mean, but...I don’t know if we match as like, an opening band for them. You’ve gotta have some crossover appeal to be an opener, right? You wouldn’t get, like, Cher Lloyd to open for AC/DC.”

Calum took a moment to consider that hypothetical concert and decided it needed to happen. Luke looked like he was thinking that over too.

“Our musical heroes are like, Tom DeLonge and Billie Joe Armstrong. Hayley Williams. Pierre Bouvier. Theirs are like, Justin Timberlake and NSYNC. Susan Boyle. Simon Cowell. They’re more--I don’t know. I just don’t want to just do what other people want us to do, I guess. I want to keep developing our style and making music, not...not take on someone else’s style, I guess.”

“So we negotiate for that,” Michael said, as if it were just that easy. We negotiate that we clean up and get poppy for this tour, and retain our rights to us in our shows.”

Calum nodded. “We work on some pop-style hits, get broad radio appeal,” he put forward, tapping the table as if he were drawing out a flow chart. “We play pop covers with a punk rock twist, and ease people into our style, mix in our own stuff. We can’t just say no flat out, it’s too big an opportunity for that. We can’t say no until we know what they want and what we can get out of it, and then figure out if it’d be worth it. If it’s not, we say no. If it is...we go on tour.”

Ashton didn’t protest, just shrugged. “I can deal with that.”

Michael leaned back and cheered at their victory.

It took them a week solid of negotiating with Sony, with Adam and Liz at their sides, for a final contract to emerge. Liz strongarmed in a clause about their working hours and ensured she’d be on tour with them until Luke was of age; Adam fought for a songwriting rights clause. There was the groundwork for an album contract set up and they acquiesced some points there. Liz emailed scans of the contract to all of their parents before she’d let any of them sign anything, and argued with Ashton for an hour until he let her try to put in a clause about his health.

Adam approved of the final contract, which they took to be a good thing.

“We’re going on tour,” Ashton said in disbelief, when they’d all four signed the contracts in triplicate. “This is going to end so, so badly.”

“It will end amazingly,” Michael corrected.

 No one argued the point.

==

The first time they met One Direction, Michael and Luke were both bundles of nerves. Calum felt like he had a black hole in his stomach even though they were already signed to this tour. Ashton played with his bracelets, pacing back and forth. It was something they’d come to realize was one of his nervous tics.

“You’ll be fine,” Liz said kindly, coming to sit with then. She had a cardboard carrier of coffees--hot chocolate for Calum and Michael, decaf for Ashton, something with a ridiculously long name for Luke--and passed them out. London was so much colder than Sydney, and Calum gratefully accepted the warmth of the drink. “They’ve signed you. This is just formalities.”

“Still nerve-wracking,” Calum replied. Michael was too busy flicking through all the contacts in his phone over and over and over again to really notice or reply.

The hot chocolate scalded Calum’s tongue when he sipped at it. He was the only one who’d even tried his drink. Luke was staring at his as if he didn’t know what it was.

There was a commotion outside, then a flurry of movement from too many people for Calum to keep track of.

“Hullo,” Harry Styles said in the middle of all that chaos.

They went through a quick meet and greet, which felt rather like a farce when Calum considered how everyone in the room was fully aware of who everyone else was.

“We should do icebreakers,” Harry said brightly.

Niall scoffed. “Boring,” he said decisively, and hauled Luke off for a one on one chat off to the side.

Everyone else followed his lead, breaking into groups. Calum found himself face to face with Louis Tomlinson and deeply embroiled in a chat about football. He stopped thinking of Louis Tomlinson as _Louis Tomlinson_ about the time he started arguing for Peter Shilton against Peter Schmeichel as best former goalkeeper. Calum really had no idea where the conversation came from--neither of them played goalie--but he was thoroughly enjoying himself by the time Zayn joined their conversation after a few minutes, apparently bored with Ashton and Liam’s conversation.

They played a sort of speed dating game, rotating through one on one discussions.

“I think Haz’s got a crush,” Niall said to Liam as they switched, then shot Calum an alarmed look.

Calum glanced over and saw that Michael and Harry were still talking to each other even though everyone else had shuffled.

Michael was flirting, Calum realized. The little glances, the slow blinks, the half-steps closer: Michael was _flirting_ with Harry Styles. And judging by the way they angled towards each other, Harry Styles was flirting back. Calum’s gut clenched.

Something about that was vaguely upsetting. Michael hadn’t said anything about wanting to flirt with boys, not to any of them, and--well, Calum and Luke had both said something so why would Michael have thought he couldn’t? Maybe he wasn’t really flirting, Calum thought, and quickly shifted his attention back to Niall, trying not to think about Michael and Harry.

That turned out to be a fruitless endeavour. Michael constantly talked about Harry after the meeting, and apparently they were texting buddies now. Calum couldn’t help but feel more than a little left out; now it was always Harry this and Harry that, and they’d only met the damn guy _once_.

Ashton was being super-understanding about the whole situation, which was kind of out of character for him. Either that or he was being wilfully ignorant about it. Calum wasn’t sure which way he preferred. No matter what Ashton’s true motive was, he didn’t bring up the whole Michael-and-Harry thing, for which Calum was grateful.

==

Calum’s birthday was remarkably low-key. It was kind of a relief how quiet it was, given how hectic the past month had been. They’d been rehearsing and songwriting almost constantly in an attempt to be even vaguely prepared for touring with One Direction. Adam had taken up residence in London to manage them hands-on, helping them devise a setlist and figure out how to put on a good show to thousands of people.

Luke and Ashton surprised Calum with an actually cake-shaped cake. Thankfully neither of them had attempted to bake it, which was probably why it was edible. Michael produced a truly horrific card and a fantastic present from the three of them, and they sang him Happy Birthday loud and intentionally off key in the early hours of the day. Luke and Ashton had put their leadery heads together and declared Calum’s birthday a free day, so the four of them set off into London to play tourist for the day.

Liz didn’t come with them, deciding to take advantage of the quiet house and offering to meet up with them for lunch. they went and explored Piccadilly Circus again and sought out the London Eye.

It was a little weird, when they showed up to the restaurant for lunch and Gemma Styles met them them there. Ashton was thrilled, of course, while Michael sulked that it wasn’t the other Styles sibling. Calum was mostly confused--he didn’t really know Gemma or Harry all that well and wasn’t sure why Gemma had shown up to his birthday lunch.

“Mali says happy birthday and she’ll call you in a few hours,” Gemma said once they were all seated, answering Calum’s unspoken question. Luke and Michael both stared at Gemma in confusion until she clarified. “When they picked you as openers, Hazmat got me in contact with your sister, Calum, since we’re about the same age.”

“Has she been telling you lots of lies about us?” Michael interjected, grinning.

“Oh, only a few,” Gemma shot back without hesitating. Calum liked her already. She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “Happy sixteenth, yeah? Big year.”

A commotion outside distracted everyone; people shouting and jostling.

“Sorry about the noise,” Harry said as he dropped into the empty seat next to Gemma. “Thought we’d come and say happy birthday to one of our tourmates, but we thought all five of us would cause a mob, so just Ni and I.” He leaned over and kissed Gemma on the cheek, and waved at everyone else. Liz raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Happy birthday, Calum,” Niall said, reaching for a menu. “Get the chicken risotto here, it’s the best.”

“You holding up that stereotype that you like to eat?” Michael asked, leaning across the table to steal Luke’s full water glass.

“Ah, y’know me. All I do’s eating, playing guitar, wanking.”

“Niall _Horan_ ,” Liz scolded, and turned right back to her conversation with Adam. Niall looked adequately ashamed.

“Been awhile since anyone told me off,” he said, rather cheerfully. “Might have to come visit Liz more often, eh?”

“That’s my _mum_ ,” Luke squeaked. Niall cackled and ruffled Luke’s hair.

“M’only teasing. Now, ‘ve you heard the story ‘bout our first time on tour? No? Ah, man, you’ve _gotta_ hear it.”

Calum smiled and turned to chatter with Luke. The next few months would be insane and they still had a great deal to do before they were even remotely ready for it, but sitting here he thought they could do it and do it well.

He glanced across the table to see Ashton flirting with Gemma, and thought about how the insular world they’d built around their band was opening up, had to open up to new people--Gemma and Harry Styles, for a start--and how maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. He saw the way Adam and Liz debated something quickly and sharply as they pored over a document of some sort; Calum felt a surge of pride at knowing there were people who believed in them and were willing to give so much to see their band succeed. Luke and Michael were bickering together, a reminder of where they’d come from and what they’d done so far. Then, of course, there was Niall and Harry, as a reminder of what could and _would_ come for them in the future.

And beside him was Michael, as steady and constant as ever.

Michael bumped his shoulder against Calum’s. “Hey, you zoned out. You okay?”

“Little overwhelmed,” Calum said, seeing no reason to lie. “Lot going on.”

Michael stuck out his tongue. “Stop overthinking. It’s your birthday!”

Under the table, Michael grabbed Calum’s hand and laced their fingers together. He kept their linked hands in his lap, warm and reassuring. Michael gave Calum a comforting smile and surged back into the conversation with Luke, Harry and Niall. Calum smiled and followed suit, altogether too glad he was doing this with this with this particular set of people.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry fucking Styles is ruining Calum's life.

**==**

**FEBRUARY 2013** \--Ashton 18, Michael & Calum 17, Luke 16

==

 

Calum liked to think of himself as relatively unflappable. Like, his life had taken enough bizarre turns in the past year that there wasn’t really anything left to throw him for a loop. Opening for One Direction? Sure, bring it on. Writing an album from scratch? It’ll be done by Christmas. Playing the O2? Well, he’d always figured he’d do that with a footie team but playing bass might be even better. Morgan Spurlock filming the tour? Why the fuck not, like, really, that was completely to be expected at this point.

His bandmates were not of the same nonchalant air. Ashton kept eyeing the cameras warily--while the One Direction boys were used to them from tour rehearsal, the 5sos boys had rehearsal in a different, less mobbed location. That didn’t stop Harry Styles from dropping by their rehearsal after his, presumably to bother Michael. While that was a little weird for everyone, Michael was admittedly handling it with grace. Niall Horan tagged along with Harry just as often as not, so they were slowly building a friendship.

Luke was mostly in stammering disbelief over the fact that they’d somehow jumped from playing crowds of a few hundred, if they were lucky, to getting ready to play for thousands.

Many things happened very quickly over the next couple of weeks. They rehearsed enough that Luke lost his voice, and then cut back somewhat on rehearsals, just in time to release Heartbreak Girl and formally announce that they’d be supporting One Direction on tour. Their video view and subscriber counts suddenly multiplied. They had to sort out guardianships (Calum and Michael became wards of Liz until they turned eighteen, which led to Luke making jokes about having gained two extra brothers) and visas and work permits; there was a huge debate over performance planning and setlist contents.

All too soon came the opening date of tour. The whole day was hectic and the best they could do was stay relatively out of the way of the flurry of activity.

“Michael’s freaking out,” Ashton said, an hour before they were scheduled to kick off the concert. “Can you make him…not freak out?”

Calum pushed to his feet. “I can try.”

“Please do. Liz is helping Luke and Lou wants to do my hair— _why_ do they have to do my hair, why, what’s wrong with it—and Michael tried to _bite_ me earlier.”

Calum snorted and headed off in the direction of where he’d last seen Michael. He found him in a back hallway, curled up in a ball.

“We haven’t played that many shows,” Michael said when Calum slid down the wall to sit next to him. “What the _fuck_ are we doing?”

“Banding,” Calum said. That got a snort out of Michael, which was better than crying, which is what Calum had been expecting. He slid closer to Michael, bumped their shoulders together. “Hey. We can do this. We’ve been practicing.”

“Not _enough_ ,” Michael mumbled. He turned and rested his forehead on Calum’s shoulder. “We haven’t been practicing _enough_.”

“We’ve practiced plenty, we just need experience now.” Calum paused and brought his hand up to gently card through Michael’s hair. “Come on, Mikey. It’s just nerves.”

“Nerves can suck my dick,” Michael groused. He nudged into Calum’s hand and exhaled long and slow. “I’m scared,” he admitted. His voice was trembly and quiet, and for a second Calum wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

“Me too,” Calum admitted. “I might even faint.”

“Oh, _tell me_ Luke’s mum is filming this, so I can watch that moment over and over and over again.”

“Liz has filmed every show we’ve ever played,” Calum said dryly. He leaned over and kissed Michael on the top of his head. “Of _course_ she’s filming this.”

“Ashton and Luke are going to watch it over and over again, aren’t they?”

“Oh, definitely. And take notes on what to do better.”

Michael snorted, and that was enough to send Calum into a round of giggles, which in turn caused Michael to laugh until neither of them could remember what they were laughing about in the first place.

“Right, come on,” Calum said once they’d sobered. He stood and held out his hand. Michael blinked at him in confusion. “We’ve got a show to play.”

Michael’s expression shifted to one of resigned annoyance. “Oh god, I’ve got to throw up.”

“You can throw up after the show,” Calum said sternly. Michael nodded, looking pale, and accepted Calum’s hand to stand up.

“I’m going to throw up on stage.”

“ _After_ the show. Make sure you get that awful hat of Ashton’s when you do throw up.”

“I was going to aim for Luke’s shoes but the hat is a good backup option. Think I could hit them both?”

“ _There’s_ the Mikey I know and love.”

“Yeah, you do love me,” Michael said, and linked their hands together.

==

They got better at playing to big crowds, fast. They kind of had to, when they were opening for _One Direction_. They’d taken to watching 1D’s set from the audience, watching their interactions and figuring out what worked and what didn’t. They found fan videos and figured out what people got most excited about, and tried to do more of that.

Despite the fact that they were mostly bullshitting their way through the first dozen or so shows, it seemed to be working. They had a unique experience on their hands: as they finished songs, they could test them in the lab of a concert arena.

They didn’t ever really write successfully with One Direction, probably because 1D were massively busy and because anything 1D wrote was played musically by other people and had to harmonize in five parts. 5 Seconds of Summer tended to work as a more instrument driven group, so their styles didn’t necessarily align.

That didn’t mean Harry and Michael didn’t try to write together, or Niall and Ashton. The stuff they came out with was _fun_ but not necessarily workable for either of them, and as such got abandoned pretty quickly. It was interesting, to see how their styles meshed and clashed.

Eventually, everyone settled into the comfortable rhythm of life on the road, even if the road was just around the UK for this leg of tour. The excitement carried them through the first three shows, but right before their second Glasgow show, homesickness hit _hard_.

They’d left Australia in early December and now it was late February; if they hadn’t gotten signed for this tour they’d have been home by now and in school for a month already. Once the excitement and stage-fright of the first few shows wore off, all that was left was the monotony of hurrying up and waiting. All four of them got rather antsy but Michael got hit the hardest.

It was always Calum who managed homesick Michael. Luke had Liz this trip, and Ashton kept it pent up until he exploded on someone with his incomprehensibly thick Sydney accent and a clatter of drum solos. Calum was pretty alright--the UK wasn’t so horribly, horribly different and he had most of his most important people right here. That, and he knew how to vent properly, with song writing and running and phone calls home to Mum and Dad and Mali-Koa.

Michael, though, was too easily homesick, out of the four of them. He’d get quiet and sulky, and play with his earrings in the sort of fidgety-twitchy way that drove Ashton insane. Homesick Michael, they discovered, was more likely to needle people until they exploded on him, and then he was known to both bite and kick. Only Calum seemed safe, too used to Michael’s moods to be put off.

“You okay?” he asked, pushing open the curtain to Michael’s bunk. Michael was fiddling with his UK mobile, pressing angrily at the keys. By the expression on his face, he was plotting the next way to needle someone into a fight. Calum thought it was probably Ashton, who was the most likely to fight back and not care that Michael fought dirty.

“No,” Michael said, after a second. He grumped at Calum before setting his phone on his lap.

“Want to tell me why?”

“Stop treating me like a child,” Michael snapped. Calum rolled his eyes and shoved at Michael, climbing up via one of the tech’s bunks to crawl in with Michael.

The only way for both of them to fit was for one of them to be practically on top of the other, so Calum settled himself in, sprawling his legs over Michael’s.

Michael stubbornly refused to admit anything was wrong, but he accepted Calum curling into his personal space with no complaints, which definitely meant something was wrong. Michael’s nose was cold, as were his fingers, and his socked toes pressed into Calum’s calves. He wormed his hands under Calum’s jumper and pressed himself close as close as he could. Calum could feel Michael’s pulse jackrabbiting beneath his skin and could feel the trembling tension in Michael’s touch. He held Michael until he calmed, kept them close together until Michael was back at something resembling normal.

“Thanks,” Michael said, when his fingers were warmed and his heart rate had slowed.

“Anytime,” Calum replied. “Just let me know before you piss off Ashton next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael mumbled, and reached for his iPod. He offered an earbud to Calum—a peace offering—and they fell asleep that way, tangled together and cocooned in Michael’s bunk.

 

**==**

**MARCH 2013** \--Ashton 18, Michael & Calum 17, Luke 16

==

 

Calum supposed it was only natural that they all started to drift apart a little as tour wore on. They’d been in constant contact with each other for months on end and found themselves repeating conversations. More than a few times they’d seriously gotten on each other’s nerves and at the very least, Calum and Michael were both picking fights with each other. Mixing new people in seemed to ease the boredom and tension and at least brought up new conversations, so a drift was really in everyone’s best interests, Calum thought.

Niall got along famously with all of them and seemed to appreciate the change of pace as much as they did. Everyone attached to someone in the crew--Luke spent a ridiculous amount of time learning how the sound system worked in every venue they were at, for example--and from there splintered into little groups based on interests outside of music. Michael hit it off with Harry, unsurprisingly, and spent more and more time with him. It got to the point where Michael and Niall unofficially swapped bunks for a week before anyone actually said anything.

Which was okay. Calum wasn’t offended, not really. Ashton seemed convinced that Calum should be furious about this betrayal, but really Calum wasn’t all that bothered.

Okay. That was a lie. Calum was a little bothered. He’d always been closest to Michael and now he was floundering a bit, now that Michael had found a new favorite person.

One of the few times they were together as a band for extended periods of time was their irregular Derpball matches; Derpball had started in one of their twitcams not long after they released Out of My Limit. The rules they established came from one of those silly games Ashton had invented to keep his younger siblings occupied on rainy summer days but the band had quickly adopted modified them to kill boredom.

Ashton was, unsurprisingly, the best at the game, but Calum wasn’t far behind. After three matches where Ashton and Calum absolutely slaughtered Luke and Michael, the executive decision was made to put Ashton and Calum on opposing teams all the time.

Calum paired up with Luke, and took a bit of vicious pleasure in targeting Michael. _Try and ignore me now_ , he thought. Liz filmed the whole thing, and Luke edited it into a video. It was surprisingly popular.

They followed up the Derpball video with a video diary from tour, which was equally fun to make. Heartbreak Girl hit a million views, which was absolutely fucking insane to even think about.

==

“Hey, Calum, do you have a girlfriend?” Calum looked up from his laptop at Luke’s question. They were all piled into his and Ashton’s room, and Calum had just dug up a fan video from the depths of youtube to show Michael.

Ashton and Michael looked between Luke and Calum, their expressions somewhere between confusion and suspicion.

“No?”

“Then why do you have lace undies in your bag?’

Calum dropped his laptop. It bounced on the bed next to Michael. Everything in the room ground to a stop.

“The _fuck_ were you doing in my bag?” Calum grit out, proud of the fact that his voice didn’t shake.

“Looking for clean socks,” Luke said, unbothered at the fact that he’d been digging through Calum’s personal belongings. “I thought we had a pact to not date on tour.” He started to look pissed off, which was hilarious considering he had absolutely no right to be. “So you’re totally breaking band rules.”

Ashton nodded in agreement and Calum considered throwing something heavy at both Ashton and Luke. They deserved it at this point.

“I--they’re _not_ my girlfriend’s!”

“Ha! So you _do_ admit to having a girlfriend!”

“No--I’m--they don’t belong to my girlfriend because I don’t _have_ a girlfriend.

Luke snorted. Michael stared at everyone in horror. “Yeah, okay, then why are they in your bag.”

“They’re _mine!_ ”

“Seriously, dude?” Luke shook his head and dropped the offending panties. “You’re claiming women’s underwear as yours to get out of admitting you have a girlfriend when we made a band pact--”

“He’s not lying,” Michael said quietly. For the second time in as many minutes, the room ground to a stop.

“They’re mine,” Calum repeated, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “So. Um.”

The door slammed as Ashton left. Luke gave Calum a helpless look and followed.

Ashton didn’t talk to him for three days. Calum tried not to be too offended, to reason out why Luke and Michael were more accepting than Ashton.

It wasn’t that hard to figure out, unfortunately. Luke was--well, Luke was _Luke_. He’d been the first one to sort himself out, and had been confident enough in that identity to come out to them when he was all of fucking _fifteen_ years old. And Michael might think it was weird and wrong, maybe, but he’d stand by Calum til the end of the world, any weird things between them be damned. Both Luke and Michael would take the time to consider what this would feel like if they were in his position, if they’d been accidentally outed to their best friends. Luke was definitely wracked with guilt over the whole thing, and Michael was on the defensive.

Ashton, though. Ashton didn’t have any reason to explore queer ideas other than cut and dried bi, gay, and straight. He was straight himself, classified himself in a “normal” category, and tried to be supportive for the rest of them. Maybe he could accept Calum and Luke being bi, because they also liked girls, like he did, and in his mind it was a step between being fully straight and fully gay. He’d had more trouble with Michael being fully gay, because that was totally different, but also easy to accept as being exactly the same, just opposite. Michael was just the same as Ashton was, except he liked boys instead of girls. Calum knew Ashton could wrap his head around that.

But this, he wouldn’t have any frame of reference for. Calum knew Ashton had never explored queerness beyond gay and bi and straight, and he knew Ashton didn’t understand the non-sexual implications of anything like this.

And maybe Luke and Michael didn’t quite get it, either, but they were willing to put in the effort to try to understand. It hurt a little that Ashton wasn’t trying to talk it out with him.

Luke told him, three days into this whole standoff, that Ashton didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth, was trying to understand because it was Calum, of all people, but it still hurt. It was still scary to be so vulnerable, to feel like he was being alienated by one of his best friends.

Calum was fully prepared to ignore Ashton for as long as it took for Ashton to pull his head out of his ass, and proceeded to do so.

A week after Calum’s biggest secret was exposed to his band, Louis, of all people, got fed up with the tension between them and the way it was throwing off their shows. With Calum pissed off at Ashton, and both Luke and Michael siding with Calum, their opening act was just ever so slightly off enough that everyone more than casually acquainted with them noticed.

“I’m sick of teenage drama,” Louis announced after one technically perfect but still lacking show and organized a laser tag tournament. Calum would’ve preferred paintball and leaving actual, physical bruises, but there was no way the 1D boys could get away with those and so lazer tag it was.

A group of maybe twenty of them went, all of 5sos and a decent chunk of the tech crew and three-fifths of One Direction. Harry and Zayn were both off doing noisy, attention-grabbing things, leaving the rest of them in relative peace. Michael and Niall peeled off to play in the arena’s arcade with Luke and Josh tagging along behind them. Surprisingly enough, Liz got a vest and a laser rifle.

“Oh, when else am I going to get to shoot you lot for being idiots?” she demanded when more than a few people looked at her in confusion.

It was quite the sight, suburban-mum Liz in the blinking sensor vest with a laser rifle propped on her hip. It was almost enough to make Calum laugh.

Louis had apparently caught on to the fact that Calum and Ashton were the source of the tension, since they were quickly sorted onto opposite teams.

The first match, they just shot the hell out of each other with no mind to strategy. By the third match, when they were sorted onto the same team and got their asses handed to them by Liz and Luke in an alarmingly strong show of mother-son teamwork, they were almost ready to talk.

As part of Louis’ tournament setup, there was an enormously large amount of pizza set out. Calum piled his plate high with cheese pizza. They all usually tried to moderate their amount of unhealthy food, for a lot of reasons--it made it easier for Ashton to avoid foods bad for his heart condition, it made workouts less grueling, and it kept Liz and Luke from nagging at them--but honestly Calum just didn’t care right now. He still kept an eye on Ashton’s plate, though, not wanting Ashton to get sick and require yet another trip to the hospital.

Almost as if he knew what Calum was doing, Ashton pointedly put three slices on his plate and found a mostly-empty table for them to sit at.

“So,” he said, stacking his pizza slices into one mega-slice. “I’ve been an arsehole.”

“You think?” Calum said pointedly. He shoved a water bottle at Ashton and opened his own.

Ashton flushed. “Okay, yes. Fair point.” He sighed. “I didn’t...fuck, I like, didn’t want to be a dick. But I guess I ended up being an asshole anyways.”

“Oh, no, you’ve been lovely.”

“Sarcasm isn’t becoming.”

“No, really?”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to be sincere.” Ashton pushed at his pizza, picking off globs of cheese and licking them from his fingers. “So. I’ve been a dick, and I probably should’ve just asked you the, like, offensive questions, but I thought I was being less of a dick by asking Google instead of you. Which is clearly untrue now, but I didn’t, like, get that until Michael kicked my ass. Luke joined in.”

Calum snorted. Ashton offered a half smile.

“So, like, I was trying to figure out, like, why, and all I was coming up with was--well, he’s been lying. And that pissed me off.”

Calum opened his mouth to protest. Ashton saw and raised a hand to stop him.

“I know, I don’t have the right to be pissed--you can punch me for that, by the way--but, like, that was where I was coming from.”

“I mean, maybe you kind of get how we felt when you didn’t tell us you were sick.”

Ashton squalled. “I’m not _sick_.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t catch the plague from liking lace underwear,” Calum hissed right back.

Ashton at least had the grace to look ashamed. “Like I said: I’ve been a dick.”

“Yeah, you have.” Luke sat next to Ashton and dumped a handful of baby carrots onto Ashton’s plate. “And Cal, you’ve been a dickwad too. Justifiably, too, so you can stop sulking. I’ve been a dick, Michael’s been off sucking them--”

“Hey,” Michael protested. “They’ve been nice dicks. Unlike yours.”

They all broke into a chorus of protest at Michael’s comments.

“Now are we gonna be men about this and shoot the hell out of each other in order to solve our problems, or do we want to keep yapping?”

Liz and Luke absolutely destroyed them in the next round, and the five of them took on 1D’s camp and lost spectacularly in that round.

After the tournament, Calum rather thought that his and Ashton’s relationship was probably hovering somewhere around a six on a scale of one to ten. Not overly fraught with tension, but not the best of buddies either. That relationship would take awhile to mend itself, he knew.

For awhile, Calum was lonely. Michael was pulling away to spend more and more time with Harry Styles and the 1D camp--he’d refused to go to an arcade with them in favor of going to an organic _supermarket_ with Harry Styles, which was un-fucking-believable. Since things were awkward with Ashton, that left Luke--who was doing his best not to choose sides between Calum and Ashton and so wasn’t really up for being all buddy-buddy with either of them. It didn’t feel comfortable, really, until all four of them were together.

Six and seven hour bus rides paired with soundchecks, interviews, and photoshoots meant that they were spending only ten hours a day together, which to Calum seemed like not quite enough.

It was a little funny that they amount of time they all spent with each other was still significantly more than any normal group of friends spent with each other and yet still felt alarmingly sparse for them. Alarmingly, it felt both alien and natural to be at this distance from his band. Alien in that they hadn’t done this for so enormously long and yet they were so close, and natural in that they were finally getting a little much-needed personal space.

Calum spent a lot of time texting Mali-Koa about this discovery and getting back increasingly sarcastic advice.

While Michael was off getting cozy with Harry Styles, Calum got close with Niall Horan. Niall was always up for an adventure or a drink or a good laugh, which Calum massively appreciated. Louis Tomlinson was always good for a chat about footie, and Liam Payne was fun enough for a kickaround, but they both kept a polite distance from all of 5sos. Calum was a little afraid to approach Zayn Malik, who seemed to be intensely private but got along fantastically with the rest of his band. Niall loved everyone, on the other hand, which made for a good, easygoing friendship.

“So, any reason you’re hanging out with Mikey’s polar opposite?”

Calum bristled at Luke’s casual use of _his_ nickname for Michael. Then he blinked in confusion. “What wait?”

“Niall? You avoiding Michael? What’s up with that?” Luke clambered over the back of the couch and landed next to Calum with a heavy thud. They were killing time in the prep area for a photoshoot. Michael had wandered off to text someone--probably Harry, if Calum was being perfectly honest--without their horrible teasing. Ashton was getting his individual shots done, leaving Luke and Calum to their own devices while Liz typed away at her laptop in the corner.

“Niall’s awesome, and he’s not Michael’s opposite anyways,” Calum protested. “Like, I get sick of you guys sometimes. I’m not sick of Niall yet.”

Luke made a face. “Yeah, but you’ve got a crush on ‘em both.”

Calum startled. “I--no-- _what_?”

Luke shrugged. “Well, you’re in love with _Mikey_ \--” Calum really did throw something at Luke this time. “--Hey, _everyone_ knows it! And you like Niall and think he’s pretty.”

“Pretty?”

At least Luke had the grace to look awkward. “Uh. Handsome. Attractive. Gorgeous. You know I’m bad with describing good-looking people!”

“So you think he’s attractive?”

“Ih, not really. But you’re not denying it!”

“I don’t like Niall, he’s not my type!”

Luke pointed an accusing finger at him. “Oh, so you don’t like blond extroverts with cute accents who like fast cars and playing golf? What, do you like blue-haired introverts who like vidya and the Cab? I _never_ would have guessed.”

Calum fishmouthed. He didn’t know how to reply, or even if he wanted to.

Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “Just a thought, Cal.”

Calum worried after his talk with Luke. If everyone knew he had a crush on Michael, did that mean Michael knew too? And if Michael knew, was that why he’d been spending more and more time with Harry? Was he grossed out that his childhood friend had an awful, terrible crush on him?

Calum hoped not but had a sneaking feeling that it was true.

Something had to change--either his friendship with Michael had to go or his crush did. The problem came when both things were so ingrained in him at this point he had no idea what to do with it.

Maybe he had a third option: maybe if he pretended he didn’t have a crush, maybe it would go away on his own. At the very least it might convince Michael that everything was fine.

So he had some decisions to make, and some changes as well.

==

Michael meant to tell the others he’d figured out he was gay, really he did. He just never got around to it. He wasn’t in the closet, not _really_ \--heflirted with enough boys there was no way that his bandmates hadn’t caught on at least a little bit--he just...hadn’t opened the doors yet, not really.

Calum and Ashton both regularly pulled girls when they were in hotels and cities. Calum pulled the occasional boys, too. Luke was shier about it, flirted but never really brought anyone back. Michael thought it probably had something to do with the fact that Mumma Liz was on tour with them--Luke and Liz were both bluntly honest, especially with each other. Luke didn’t seem to really be the one-night stand type, either.

Michael had thought he could be the one-night stand type if he wanted to be, back when all of this had started and serious long-distance relationships had seemed more trouble than they were worth. It was just the fact that Harry Styles existed, and liked flirting with Michael, and that seemed more fun than pulling a total stranger.

So. Yeah. Michael kept meaning to say something to his bandmates, but it was never pressing enough or important enough to actually muster up the courage and have a band meeting for it. He figured he would, if it ever progressed beyond regular making out with Harry.

The others had all gone out--Niall was determined to show 5sos the best clubs in Dublin, the fact that three-fourths of them were underage be damned. The 1D boys had elected to go along as well, with the exception of Harry and Michael.

“Too many rumours,” Harry had said, looking tired. Think I’ll have a quiet night in,” Harry had said when the others were running around getting ready. Michael had slung an arm around Harry’s neck and offered to stay behind and keep him company. No one had even given them a second glance, other than to check that Michael was really sure he wanted to stay with Harry.

They’d started out with takeaway and beer and the entire box set of every How I Met Your Mother episode released yet. They’d both gotten just past the edge of tipsy, and Michael had gotten sauce on his cheek, and Harry had licked it off, and that had turned into a bit of a wrestling match, and that had turned into making out.

Michael liked being kissed, and Harry was a good kisser. It was an arrangement that worked out nicely for all parties involved.

There was something nice about being wanted, something wonderful about being pressed into the rough bus carpeting by someone else's weight.

It was easy to sort of forget about everything but Harry and the sound of the canned laughter coming from the TV.

“Oh,” someone said, sounding shocked, and the door slammed shut. Startled, Harry sat up, hair messy from where Michael had been running his fingers through it.

“I think everyone’s back,” Harry said, a bit obviously. Michael propped himself up on his elbows and touched a hand to his lips.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Everyone decent?” Niall asked, through wild laughter. “Calum tore out of there like he’d seen his parents getting it on.”

There was a chorus of grossed out groans.

“We’re decent,” Harry called, rolling to his feet. Michael stayed put, stretched out along the couch. “Never _weren’t_ decent.”

Niall bounced in, flushed and bright eyed, oddly steady for someone who’d sworn to get as drunk as humanly possible that evening. He was followed by Louis and Liam. Louis took one look at them and started laughing.

“I should probably go find Calum,” Michael said, a little uncomfortable. Harry gave him a knowing smile.

“Go on, find your boy,” he said, and practically pushed Michael out the door.

It wasn’t easy to find Calum when he didn’t want to be found; he had a strange talent for finding the most inconvenient, out of the way spots and making himself still enough to be unnoticed. Michael knew he wouldn’t find Calum if he didn’t want to be found, and yet he found Calum sitting on the loading dock, kicking his feet and staring at the sky.

“Didn’t know you liked boys,” Calum said shortly when Michael sat next to him. Michael felt a flush of shame--Calum was so rarely angry with him, but he clearly was now.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Michael said, fidgeting.

“I, just. Why didn’t you trust us?” Calum said, looking sincerely upset. “Why didn’t you trust _me_?”

“I do, I just…” Michael shrugged helplessly. “It never seemed like a big enough deal to bother you guys with. I was going to, I swear, I...stuff kept happening, you know? As soon as we’re done with the first tour, as soon as I can tell mum, as soon as this whatever with Harry turns into something.”

“Sure looked like something to me,” Calum crumbled, but understanding quirked at his lips.

“We were kissing.” Michael bumped against Calum’s shoulder. “I’ve kissed you, and Luke, and Ashton. It wasn’t _serious_.”

“Looked serious.”

“It wasn’t!” Michael looked at his hands. “It was nice, was all. He can’t kiss anyone without making headlines, and I like kissing people. If I get an actual boyfriend, you’ll be the first to know, promise.”

For whatever reason, that made Calum look even more upset. “I don’t think you should date Harry,” he said, still frowning. He tugged at his sleeves and folded the ends over his hands. Sweaterpaws, Michael thought vaguely before returning back to the task at hand.

“Why not? He’s funny, cute. Single.”

Calum shrugged tersely. “He’s not good enough for you.”

Michael thumped Calum on the arm. “He’s fantastic, enough for me, shut up. Out of all the boys in the world, I don't think I could do much better than Harry Styles.”

“So it’s just boys, then?”

Michael paused and thought about it. “Yeah. Just boys.”

Calum nodded. “You get to tell Luke and Ash and Mumma Liz on your own.”

Michael made a face, not enjoying the thought on his own. “Can’t I just let them find out on their own?”

“Nope, Luke and I had to come out, so do you. This is your punishment for making me see Harry Styles’ hand down your pants.”

“His hand wasn’t--”

“Details,” Calum hissed, rolling his eyes. “Tonsils touching, dry humping, hands in pants, whatever, _I_ had to see it so _you_ have to tell them.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Calum punched him in the shoulder, not quite hard enough to bruise. “Shut up. Asshole. You could’ve told me.”

“And deny you this grand opportunity to see Harry Styles’ hand down my pants? Oh, I couldn’t _possibly_.”

Luke and Ashton took it well, having expecting it from Niall’s teasing about Calum catching Harry and Michael together. Mumma Liz cried a bit (“you’re all such brave boys, I’m _so proud_ of you”) and offered to help him call his mum, an offer which he declined politely. Luke grinned and said “welcome to the queer club”, while Ashton had groaned “am I the only heterosexual in this band, now? Did we sign some sort of queer pact? Someone should have mentioned that at some point” before giving Michael one of the nicest hugs he’d had in a while. Their manager and PR people sat him, Luke, and Calum down, and gave them a wide range of coming out options. All three of them politely asked the PR people to fuck off, and went on with life as usual.

He and Harry tried writing a song together, and produced a god awful song that they ended up scrapping in favour of Harry teaching Michael the finer points of giving a blowjob.

It was fun, _flirty_ fun.

Which was why it was weird that Michael was vaguely unsettled about sharing his budding relationship with his band. He shrugged it off as wanting a little privacy but couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it might be more than that.

 

**==**

**APRIL 2013** \--Ashton 18, Michael & Calum 17, Luke 16

==

 

This...whatever it was with Haz was everything it needed to be and nothing more. It wasn’t definied, which Michael thought contributed to the fun. Any expectations of dating and professing eternal love just weren’t there, since they both knew there was no way either of them could publicly date each other, and somehow the idea of total secrecy didn’t appeal to either of them on a long-term basis. Harry didn’t seem to mind that Michael was seriously inexperienced, considering that all the sex he’d ever had with dudes was entirely limited to a few hurried and quick encounters. In fact, Haz seemed to like it.

The only drawback? Everyone on tour who was in the know now that Harry and Michael had been caught making out was convinced that they were dating--including Calum and Louis. Well, that and Harry wouldn’t stop talking about Calum.

When they’d first started hooking up, they’d sat down and talked. Or, well, they’d sort of hurriedly brought up the fact that neither of them were dating anyone, despite persistent rumors to the contrary on Harry’s part, and that’d sort’ve been it. Except Harry was convinced that he was the reason that Michael and Calum weren’t talking so much, which was patently untrue.

Calum had been weird since before he’d found about Michael and Harry, so Michael was pretty sure it wasn’t that, but nothing he said could convince Harry otherwise.

“Fuck no,” Michael said sweetly. They’d gone out for a super late lunch on a day off and Michael wasn’t exactly into calling attention to them, which was probably why Harry had picked to go out instead of having food brought in, when he thought about it. “There is no way in hell I’m telling Calum I’ve been in love with him since year eight.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t,” Harry said diplomatically. The restaurant was a vegetarian Indian style place that Harry had been quite excited about. Michael had grudgingly admitted that he liked the roti, and he’d probably like the rest of the food too, even if he didn’t like it as much as the Indian place by his house. It was the _conversation_ that was bothering him.

“Damn straight I haven’t. Because I’m not.”

Harry merely raised an eyebrow as he sipped at his water. Michael flushed.

“You’re hooking up with me because I’m the polar opposite of him. Louis’ just like Calum, I’d know.”

Michael slouched and sulked. Someone delivered food to their table, and Harry put a serving of lemon rice onto each of her their plates.

He seemed to find Michael’s sulk funny.

“You’re just proving my point,” he said, in that slow, measured tone of his. “He obviously means a lot to you.”

“I thought we were _done_ with this conversation.”

“Forgive me for wanting to know you better,” Harry said. “Curry?”

“This isn’t knowing me better, this is beating a dead horse.” Michael’s shoulders slumped.  “Yes please.”

It wasn’t until they were leaving the restaurant that Michael realized what they’d done could be construed as a date. Or, well, it probably would’ve been if Haz hadn’t been pushing him so hard about Calum. The sex was definitely implying a date, though.

“We should do this again,” Harry said cheerfully. Michael was still a little shell shocked from his (fucking awesome) orgasm. He felt vaguely wrong, considering that sunlight was still streaming through the windows and he was fully naked. He’d always kind of associated sex with late nights and darkened skies, but Harry was definitely into early morning and mid afternoon sex, and Michael wasn’t exactly saying no.

“Hrngg,” Michael replied. The ceiling had a speckled pattern. He hazily tried to pick out constellations while Harry puttered around primly.

By the time Michael was coherent enough to sit upright, Harry had found Niall’s acoustic guitar (which was in his room, for some reason unintelligible to Michael) and was dicking around on it. Granted, his dicking around sounded alarmingly like a Mozart concierto transposed for guitar, so Michael took the guitar back and started picking out a quick melody. It was what he could remember of a song Ashton and Calum had been working on; it was certainly rough, but it had potential.

Something about seeing Michael naked in bed with an acoustic guitar apparently did it for Harry, since they ended up fucking again. Michael actually did pass out after this round, waking up in the late evening to find Harry watching a movie.

It was quiet and insular, comfortable, even. Michael drifted in and out of consciousness and let Harry scratch at the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You alright there?” Harry asked lightly, when Michael moaned at the pleasant contact.

“Please don’t stop doing that,” Michael told him, melting further into the bed. It was then  that a very problematic thought popped into his head. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he said, sitting bolt upright. “ _Curfew_. Liz is going to kill me.”

Harry got a look on his face, like he was just remembering that _oh, Michael’s seventeen, he still has curfew_.

Michael scurried around the room, reaching for his scattered articles of clothing. As weird as the expression on Harry’s face was, he just laid back and watched as Michael pulled his clothes back on.

“We ever going to talk about Calum, or are we still ignoring that?”

“Calum’s my best friend,” Michael said and purposely grabbed one of Harry’s shirts instead of his own. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

“We could talk about how Calum cornered me yesterday,” Harry said casually.

Michael froze for a second. “Callie’s got a thing about getting involved with people on tour,” he said, voice carefully nonchalant. He checked under the bed for wherever his socks had gotten to. “I got the same lecture.”

“It was less about people on tour and more about _you_ , actually.”

Michael rolled his eyes, not that Harry could see. “It’s Calum. I bet he tried to use some weird metaphor about team bonding and pack hierarchy or something.”

Harry paused and laughed. “Yeah, he did, actually.” He reached out and grabbed Michael’s hand, and pulled him back down onto the bed. Michael squeaked and tensed at the sudden movement but relaxed when Harry rubbed soft circles in between his shoulderblades.

“Are you in love with Calum?”

“Right to the point, huh?” Michael sat up, a little exasperated with Harry’s bluntness. This was a good thing, mutually pleasurable sex without too many attachments other than fondness and friendship. Of course Harry had to fuck it up with questions about Michael’s best friend, a boy who would never love him back. “Fuck, can we not do this?”

“I’d really rather we had this conversation now rather than later,” Harry said, sitting cross-legged, still unashamedly naked.

“Fine. Yes, a little.” Michael shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “It’s a long and complicated story.”

“You don’t think he’s in love with you?”

“He’s definitely not,” Michael said firmly, and the set of his shoulders fell, Michael automatically curling in on himself. “God, I wish he was, but he isn’t. No offense to you.”

“I’m not offended.” Harry reached out and touched Michael’s shoulder.

“ _I’m_ not stupid,” Michael countered. “I’m hung up on Calum, and you’re hung up on whoever you’re hung up on. We agreed this was supposed to be fun, and this conversation _isn’t_ fucking fun.”

“I like to think I’m your friend too,” Harry offered.

“Thanks, but my friends know not to bring up me and Calum,” Michael sniped. “He and I--we work so long as no one brings up the elephant in the room. Would you like to bring up you and Louis in public all the time?”

“My mistake,” Harry said, and let the conversation drop.

“That’s what I thought.” Michael reached for his shoes and started toeing them on. “Okay, I really, seriously have to go before Liz strings me up by my balls. See you tomorrow?”

“You owe me a drink and a blowjob,” Harry teased.

“Fuck off,” Michael sing-songed. Harry was chortling as Michael left.

The 1D boys were staying six floors up from the 5sos crew; Michael was relatively certain they weren’t supposed to be in the same hotel but that this one had been the only one capable of handling 1D’s security and 5sos had already been booked in. The dull roar of screaming outside had finally died down now that it was dark out, he noted with relief. The screaming put him on edge, especially after Louis had taken it upon himself to compare the mob of fans to a particularly high-pitched apocalypse.

Instead of waiting for the elevator, Michael took the stairs and wound his way down to the room he and Calum were sharing.

Calum looked up from his laptop as Michael let himself back into the room. Michael looked a little sheepish, wearing his rumpled clothes from earlier and a dark love bite blooming high on his neck. He ducked his head, blushing, when Calum’s gaze hit the love bite.

“Good night?” Calum asked. His voice was remarkably flat and void of emotion.

Michael covered the love bite with his palm. “Good night,” he echoed, and went to dig through his suitcase for clean pyjamas.

“I covered for you,” Calum said. “Told Mum Liz you were wanking in the shower and she didn’t ask more. Not sure if she totally bought it, though, so she might be back.”

“Thanks, Cal.”

Calum said nothing else, which was weird. Calum would have ribbed him for details, if he were Ash or Luke, but he would barely even acknowledge that Michael had been gone for several hours. Maybe it was the gay versus bi thing, Michael wondered. He fished out a clean sleep shirt and his toiletries, and re-zipped his bag. Maybe Cal just wanted to compare notes with Luke and Ashton about girls, and. Well, Michael wasn’t exactly fucking a girl at the moment. Or ever, if he had anything to say about it.

He was fucking Harry Styles, which was something kind of mind-blowing, when you sat down and thought about it, which Michael generally tried not to do.

Maybe it was less the girls thing and more the someone-on-tour-with-them thing. After all, Calum liked boys too. He just didn’t like the boys _Michael_ liked, really.

Michael sighed and hoped Calum would come to terms with it. He’d really like his best friend to be okay with his almost-boyfriend, especially if that almost-boyfriend became an _actual_ boyfriend. It would really suck if he had to choose between Calum and Harry, and he felt awful and a little bit angry when he realized he wouldn’t choose Harry.

Calum didn’t get to judge him for who he shagged, didn’t get to make Michael’s relationship choices for him.

Michael scrubbed his teeth clean and started the shower so the water could warm up, and sulked in the shower.

Calum stared a little when Michael emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and curling at his neck. It was still dark, such a contrast against his pale skin, darker than Calum could ever really remember. He blinked tiredly and dumped his dirty clothes on top of his suitcase before flopping face first onto Calum’s bed. He peered up at Calum through his lashes.

“C’n I sleep with you?” he mumbled. Calum nodded and pushed at the covers so Michael could slip under. Michael immediately tucked into Calum’s side, his wet hair dampening Calum’s shirt.

“Isn’t Harry going to have an issue with you sleeping with other boys?” Cal asked, immediately petting at Michael’s back gently. He traced a slow figure eight with his fingertips. Michael hummed in contentment.

“S’just sleeping, innit?” Michael huffed, already starting to nod off. He dragged the covers up around his waist and stretched lazily before settling back down. “He won’t mind, you’re _Cal_.”

Calum frowned.

Well. That was just proof, wasn’t it? Michael’s boyfriend wasn’t worried about Calum, which meant Michael had to have told him that he wasn’t interested in Calum, and that stung more than it should have.

He let Michael clutch at his shirt. Michael settled for him easier than he would for anyone else and he never slept well when they weren’t in Sydney anyways.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, grip slackening. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Calum echoed, and kissed Michael softly. “Sleep well.”

Michael was mostly asleep when he heard Calum talk to someone, but his eyes were heavy and his brain was pleasantly blurry, so he tuned out Calum and drifted asleep.

Michael woke up with Calum gone. The sheets were still warm, so he hadn’t gone far.

It was easier to think of potential and ignore consequences in the morning. It was morning when Michael let himself daydream of confessing and letting Calum make the choice. He wouldn’t ever, though. He had an almost-boyfriend and he couldn’t-- _wouldn’t_ \--risk the band.

He stretched lazily and settled back into the warm hollow Calum had left; he clung to Calum’s pillow and dozed back off, feeling warm and satisfied. He was gently prodded awake thirty minutes later by a fully dressed Calum.

“I let you sleep as late as I could,” Calum apologized when Michael whined in protest. “Come on, I chucked your stuff in your bag, you just gotta get dressed.”

“Best friend _ever_ ,” Michael mumbled and attempted to extract himself from the bed. Hotel beds were _weird_. They had an extra sheet layered in between the doona and the mattress that Michael was forever getting tangled in.

Calum laughed when the sheet caught on Michael’s ankles and sent him sprawling; he collapsed onto the other bed cackling when Michael just sat there and pouted about it.

“I hate everything,” Michael grumbled.

“Bus call in ten,” Calum managed through his cackles. “Better hurry.”

“I hate you especially.” Michael finally freed himself from the blankets and stalked off to get dressed and wrangle his hair.

==

Michael could always tell when Luke wanted to have a Serious Discussion. They spent a lot of time in close proximity and had long since figured out the tells of everyone else in the band.

Michael didn’t particularly want to have a Serious Discussion with Luke. Luke’s idea of a Serious Discussion was always a huge downer for the rest of the week, and, well. Michael was happy. He was developing a maybe serious relationship with a cute and funny guy who liked Michael’s quirks, and they were finally getting the hang of this being on the road indefinitely thing, and he’d written what was going to be a fantastic song with Ashton yesterday, and, well, could anyone blame him for wanting to keep that sort of happiness around for a little while longer?

So Michael was avoiding being alone with Luke, which turned out to be a lot harder than he’d have assumed. Considering the fact that they lived on a bus with eight other people, the problem should have been finding privacy, not time alone with the one person Michael didn’t particularly want to be around at the moment. He managed to keep it up for four whole shows by using Harry and Ashton as his unwitting shields.

“Okay, what the fuck are you doing?” Luke demanded, finally having cornered Michael alone.

“Putting my guitars away, and then going to watch 1D’s set with Cal?”

“No, with Harry and Calum. What the fuck are you doing with them?”

Michael blinked, trying to switch gears from performing to deal with Luke’s inane questions. This wasn't the Serious Discussion he'd been expecting. “I’m sleeping with one and not the other?”

“Yeah, and one’s in love with you and the other isn’t.”

“Haz isn’t in love with me. It’s sex, it’s fine.”

Luke groaned. “You’re being obtuse.”

“Big word for a man who can’t tell the difference between _you’re_ and _your_.”

 The tactic worked: Luke squawked indignantly and scrabbled to mess with Michael’s hair. Michael hurriedly stored his precious guitar and turned the scrabble into more of a wrestling match.

Calum found them five minutes later. Michael was sitting on Luke’s back and casually texting his mum. Luke was having a sulk.

“Did I miss something?”

“No,” Michael said sweetly, and put away his phone. “Ready to go?”

Calum didn’t bother inquiring any further; instead, he helped Michael up first, then held a hand out to help Luke up.

“We’re gonna go watch 1D’s set and see if we can’t make Niall laugh so hard he forgets the lyrics,” Calum said. His hair was damp; clearly he’d just taken a shower and pulled a beanie on over the top. “Wanna come with, Luke?”

“Nah,” Luke said, dusting off his jeans. “I’ll go heckle Ashton, maybe grab a shower.”

“The water pressure here sucks,” Calum warned. “But it is hot, so.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bus night. I’d rather deal with shitty water pressure in an actual shower than whatever we get on the bus.”

Calum pointed at Luke. “This is true. Mikey, you gonna grab a shower too?”

“Ih, maybe later.”

“No, you should go do that.” Calum reached out to ruffle Michael’s hair; Michael accepted the rough treatment of his hair with a sigh, quite unlike his reaction to Luke ruffling his hair. “I’ll pack up Josie and get Josie and your guitars into the trailer while you shower, then we can go heckle Niall. We’ll only miss the first couple of songs if you hurry.”

==

After Michael's discussion with Luke, it kind of felt like Harry was deliberately trying to provoke Calum. Maybe Luke had talked with Harry too, or something.

Like, Michael's be hanging out with Harry, just chatting or bickering about something inane, and Calum would walk in, and suddenly Michael would be in Harry’s lap and there’d be a lovebite bitten into the thin skin on his throat, and really, this was getting ridiculous. Harry had always been flirty, sure, but flirtiness wasn’t anywhere near this level of constant touching.

On the upside, those touches tended to led to some pretty good sex, and Michael was currently extremely well-fucked. It was kind of hard not to wander around grinning all the time when he had bruises pressed into the skin of his hips and in between his thighs.

Luke and Ashton had found his newly cheerful demeanor infectious--they particularly liked the songs he was writing recently--until they realized what exactly was causing those warm fuzzies to appear.

“Oh, gross,” Luke complained. Michael wasn’t really in much condition to answer, considering that he’d just had his brains sucked out through his dick. Harry smugly put a pillow over Michael's lap, but made no move to cover himself. “On the bus, guys, really?”

“We’re on tour,” Harry said brightly. Luke hadn’t uncovered his eyes yet. Michael admired the cut of Harry’s muscles and the way his tattoos shifted with his skin. “Would you rather we had sex on stage?”

“On top of your guitars?”

“In your bunk?”

“On--”

“How about not at _all_ ,” Luke said, and fumbled his way towards the bunks without looking at them. Once the door closed behind him, Harry grinned sunnily at Michael.

“Round two?”

Michael would have agreed, if Calum and Ashton hadn’t wandered in.

“Hey, did Luke just--oh, _jesus_.”

“Nope, just Harry.”

“You’re not funny,” Calum said and stalked off. Michael didn’t know what his problem was. He’d seemed perfectly cheery an hour ago at soundcheck.

He’d been acting funny lately, both overly friendly and standoffish all at once. It was weird. Their friendship had definitely been the one to suffer the most since the band’s inception, but it had never been awkward before now.

Apparently this was a new phase in their friendship, and Michael didn’t like it one bit.

He infinitely preferred rooming with Calum over Luke, given that Luke’s freakish morning person thing had turned into a morning bear prone to biting over the past few months. Calum kept claiming Ashton as his roommate, though, which meant Luke and Michael roomed together. Luke had bitten Michael twice already, and this arrangement had only been going on for a few weeks.

But on the other hand, Calum was friendlier, and not in the way Michael was used to. He didn’t call him Mikey anymore, didn’t go for cuddle sessions on long bus rides anymore. What he did do was constantly try to write with Michael, or try to get a FIFA tournament going, or plan a prank on the 1D boys.

He was treating Michael just like he did Ashton and Luke, which he’d never done before, and Michael hated it. The problem was, Michael had no idea what to do about it.

 

 

**==**

**MAY 2013** \--Ashton 18, Michael & Calum 17, Luke 16

==

 

When the idea to film the Try Hard video at a theme park came up, it hadn’t _sounded_ terrifying. It had sounded kind of cool, honestly.

Now, staring at the roller coaster all set up with a camera, Michael was having second thoughts. And third thoughts, and fourth thoughts, and they mostly consisted of _oh, fuck no_.

 They were deposited in a prep area and ordered to wait; Ashton was immediately seized upon by the man doing hair for the shoot. Luke settled in with homework, Calum sat next to him with his mobile, and Michael looked a little green so he put his head down and bemoaned their fate.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he announced. No one really responded.

Luke kept working on whatever assignment Liz had given him; when Calum looked over his shoulder, it was strings of numbers and complicated formulas.

“Physics,” Luke grumbled, unprompted. “Mum thought if we were going to play on roller coasters all day, I should study how they work.”

“Are you _even taking_ physics for your HSC?”

Luke made a face. “It’s under the general science thing.” He erased something and started redoing his figures for a particularly nasty equation. “You would’ve had to do some for your leaver’s.”

Calum made a face. “I try not to remember that.”

They fell into relative quiet then, each distracting themselves, or they did until the stylist finished with Ashton and announced he was going to get more hairspray, to “keep their styles from moving with the coaster’s velocity.”

That was when Michael blanched and announced he was quitting the band, they could damn well find another guitarist and could film without him before flouncing off.

Ashton thunked his head down onto the table. “Not it,” he said, Luke quickly echoing. “Calum, go make Michael be less pissy, it’s too bloody early.”

Calum rolled his eyes and threw Luke’s phone at him. Luke yelped and fell off of the bench as Calum wandered off to find Michael.

Calum found Michael sitting against a restaurant wall, knees drawn up to his chest and his head down. Calum sat next to him, reaching out to gently touch Michael’s shoulder. Michael was practically shaking. He leaned into Calum’s touch gratefully, burying his face in Calum’s shoulder.

“What’s up, Mikey?” Calum asked. He accepted Michael’s weight. “Talk to me.”

“Hate roller coasters,” Michael managed, and _oh_. Calum remembered that Michael had been off sick the day their class had gone to a theme park for their graduation celebration, and couldn’t think of any other time this would’ve come up. “Threw up twice already.”

“Then you’ve got nothing left to throw up on camera,” Calum said cheerfully. Michael groaned and elbowed him weakly. “Why didn’t you say anything at the pitch?”

“Thought it was stupid.” Michael uncurled a little and peered up at Calum from underneath his sweaty fringe. Calum still wasn’t used to it being black and green yet. “Thought I could handle it. Then I saw the coaster, and puked.”

“You should’ve said something,” Calum chided. “Here, give me your wrist.”

Calum measured three fingers down Michael’s wrist and pressed in between the tendons. Michael let a noise that fell somewhere between a squeak and a moan, and eventually settled on a sigh as Calum pushed on his pressure point. He yelped when he squirmed and Calum’s nails caught on the thin skin there.

“Hold still,” Calum told him. Michael shuddered and stilled, his breathing slowly evening out and colour returning to his face. “Other wrist,” he ordered, and pressed a little kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth, trying to keep Michael’s attention on him. Michael tasted vaguely like sick; Calum tried not to wince at the taste. “See, calm down. It’s fine.”

“C’n I sit next to you?” Michael asked. His voice and hands shook.

“If it’s okay with the director,” Calum said, and finally dropped Michael’s hands. He laced his fingers together with Michael’s, and pulled them to their feet. “C’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get you on the teacups.”

They ended up having to ride the roller coaster seven times. The first time Luke and Michael were screaming and Ashton was giggling too much for the footage to really be useable. The second time, they managed to get up the hill fine, but the earbuds Luke was using to keep tempo fell out halfway down and the rest of the take was Ashton scrabbling to put the earbud back in Luke’s ear without gravity causing him to clobber Luke in the head. Michael threw up immediately after the third take, but they’d gotten Luke’s complete footage, and the next two takes went well enough, getting Ashton and Calum in turn. The sixth take was Michael’s, and he was too focused on the song to really be freaking out anymore.

The last take, the director asked them to look as excited about riding a coaster as possible. Michael fixed him with a flat glare as he climbed back into the car in resignation.

“I’ll be sure to smile as I vomit on your cameras,” he said, and was swiftly moved to the back row, next to Calum.

“You’ll be fine, Mikey,” Calum whispered, as Luke settled into the font of the car.

“How’re you holding up, Mike?” Ashton asked as he bounced into place. “Huke Lemmings here is starting to get sick and he’s not nearly so bad with coasters.”

“I’m going to piss on your pillow,” Michael said airily, and slumped back down. “I hate it.”

“Last one, yeah?” Luke offered. “Then we go on easier rides.”

“I just want to ride the teacups,” Michael said plaintively, and started to swear as the coaster jerked forwards.

“We’ll go on the teacups,” Calum promised quietly. Michael laced his fingers with Calum’s as the coaster caught on the chain going up the hill, and clung tightly.

Michael was so desensitized to the coaster by the seventh take that his swearing going up the hill was just a flat, steady monotone, complete with descriptions of where the director could shove this particular video concept. Calum struggled to keep an excited expression rather than cracking up laughing like he wanted to. Michael didn’t let go of his hand until they were back in the station, and Calum was eighty percent certain that his fingers were broken from how tightly Michael had been holding on.

They took a thirty minute break while the next ride was set up for filming. Luke went off to harass a camera operator, eternally curious. Ashton disappeared, presumably in search of food. Michael and Calum found an out of the way spot in the sun, and stretched out in the warmth. Michael rested his head in Calum’s lap.

“Sorry for being so useless,” he said. Calum tugged Michael’s hair gently and shifted his sunnies down over his nose.

“You’re not,” he said. “I’ll tell you when you’re being useless.”

“I _feel_ useless,” Michael grumbled. Despite the sunnies, Calum could still see Michael’s eyes, closed behind his tinted lenses. “I _hate_ feeling useless.”

“You’re very definitely not useless,” Calum said. “Do you want to eat or nap?”

“Nap, then eat,” mumbled Michael, and stretched out lazily. Calum carefully rubbed small circles behind Michael’s ears. With a contented mumble almost like a purr, Michael’s breathing evened out as he dozed.

The next ride turned out to be a drop tower. Michael stopped in his tracks when he saw the cameras. “Oh, _fuck_ no.”

 Michael was resigned to his death at the hands of a sadistic director and amusement park rides by the end of the day. Calum was so used to Michael’s curses by the time they finished that he was surprised when Liz boxed Michael’s ears and told him off for swearing.

The show that night went well, caught on film for the video. They performed Try Hard three times, after explaining about the video, and played Katy Perry covers after.

 

==

 **JULY 2013** \--Ashton 18/19, Michael & Calum 17, Luke 16/17

==

 

 

Harry and Michael never officially broke up. It was kind of hard to, considering that they’d never officially been dating.

By the time Ashton’s birthday had rolled around, it was very clear that there was a split between Michael and Harry, that the illusion of being together and being good for each other had broken. By Luke’s birthday, Michael was in a full-on snit about it.

“He’s trying to be _friends_ ,” Michael grumped. He spit the word _friends_ out like it was burning his mouth. His grumpy sulk was taking up the entire sofa. To be fair, it wasn’t that big of a sofa, considering that they were on a bus, but it was still the entire sofa. Luke was sitting on the floor, patiently listening to Michael bitch about Harry Styles. Ashton had walked in, seen Michael sulking and walked right back out. Calum had played along for all of twenty minutes but he’d taunted Michael a bit too much and so Luke had kicked him out to play with Ashton.

“Being friends with Harry Styles is awful,” Luke said sympathetically, and kept texting. “Really, someone should do something about him.”

“They _should_ ,” groused Michael. He buried his face in the arm of the sofa and muffled a scream of frustration. “You can’t break up with someone and then try to be friends, everyone knows that.”

Calum wandered back in, carrying a plastic bag. “Yo, Harry’s ex, Luke.”

“You deal with him,” Luke told Calum, throwing his hands up. “I’m done.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Calum took Michael’s arm and tugged him into the bunks. “Right,” he said, once the door had closed behind them. “You’re going to pretend I’m Harry and throw shit at me, then we’re going to cry and eat ice cream and be total girls and then your sulking will be over.”

“Stop patronizing me,” Michael snapped.

Calum grinned and set his plastic bag on his bunk. “Throw shit at me, come on.”

So Michael did. It wasn’t easy to imagine Calum as Harry, but it was easy to shout at him. The bus rumbled to life under their feet as he hurled his pillow at Calum over and over again, until he shouted out everything he wanted to say.

When he stopped, he exhaled. “That felt good.”

“Right?” Calum dug through his bag and produced a small tub of ice cream. He held it out: mint choclate chip. “Peace offering?”

“Um. Thanks for getting me your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Oh. Shit.” Calum fumbled in the bag and dug out another container of ice cream, butter pecan flavor. “This one’s yours. Peace offering?”

“I’ll take it.”

Calum handed him the tub and passed Michael a plastic spoon from the bag. They sat on the floor of the bus and ate their ice cream as everyone else filed onto the bus to travel to the next city.

Michael thought the ice cream was perfect. It was soft enough from wherever Calum had gotten it that he didn’t have to dig in with the plastic spoon and worry about it breaking. It was such good ice cream that he was inspired to cry. Over the ice cream, of course. Not over Harry Styles.

“You alright?”

“This is just really good ice cream.” Michael offered Calum a watery smile. “Like. Really good ice cream.”

“You’re a nerd,” Calum said. He set his own ice cream down and crawled over to sit next to Michael. “The biggest nerd to ever nerd.”

“Are you nerds done blocking the bunks?” Luke’s head peeked out from the main lounge area. “Because I need to piss and you’re blocking the way to the toilet.”

“Just for that, we’re not moving,” Michael said, just as Calum replied with “just piss in a bottle, it’s what the rest of us do during your showers.”

Luke whined and bounced over them, nearly kicking Calum’s ice cream into Ashton’s bunk. Ashton wasn’t far behind, though he didn’t bolt for the bathroom. Instead, he stole Calum’s spoon and dug into Michael’s ice cream. When Luke came back, looking deeply relieved, he also piled down with them.

With friends like these, Michael reasoned, who needed stupid fucking Harry Styles anyways?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so horribly sorry for the wait! I got caught up in several things--namely two projects for my summer courses and my 10k submission to the fic exchange (go check that out, by the way!) and then I had to halve the chapter since it was getting so long. Anyways, it's finally here! Please be kind to me at the half-smut scene I wrote towards the end; I'm pretty solidly ace and while I wanted to put this scene in, it was a bit difficult to write.  
> Comments would be greatly appreciated; I'd really love to hear from you guys!! :)  
> xx Ellen

**==**

**AUGUST 2013** \--Ashton 19, Michael, Calum & Luke 17

==

 

To celebrate the end of the first leg of the TMH tour, Michael and Calum went to get tattoos together. Liz came with them to sign waivers, since they were both still seventeen. Before she agreed to come, there was a long phone call with their parents about why they wanted tattoos, what designs they wanted, and a long argument about why they should be allowed to. Michael’s parents were much more okay with Michael getting a tattoo than Calum’s were about either of them permanently etching anything into their skin, but eventually they got permission.

Calum decided to get 2012 in roman numerals--MMXII--along his collarbone, to commemorate their first year as a band and the absolute whirlwind it had been. Michael thought about arguing that Calum should get MMXI, for 2011, when they actually started doing covers together and met Ashton, but Calum was adamant that MMXII was the right year and the right tattoo.

Michael’s tattoo was a little bit nerdier. There was a short game he’d played probably a dozen times through now, with an absolutely incredible score. He loved the concept of it and enjoyed the layers to the game, especially the ending. He liked the idea of a corporation that came at the end of the your life and changed your memories to make sure you had achieved your dreams, your wildest, most beautiful dreams, and...well, he kind of _was_ living his dreams. He didn’t think it was the end of his life, not yet, but these were good memories, of a good dream, and...well, that was how he got “To the moon” tattooed onto his bicep in curling script.

He didn’t know how to explain that to Calum, though, so he just shrugged and said “to the moon and beyond, y’know? Shoot for the moon and if you miss, you’ll land among the stars and all that.”

“That’s awesome,” Calum told him. He was clearly still buzzing from his own tattoo, as his fingers kept drifting towards the spot on his chest and jerking away when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be messing with the bandage.

Calum had held Michael’s hand, distracting him as the needle darted in and out of his skin. The cool intensity of Michael’s gaze had barely belied the fact that he was in pain, but Calum knew it hurt from the flush high in his cheeks.

“I’m never doing it again, though,” Michael added. He looked dazed as he observed his new tattoo in the mirror. “Ever.”

Calum thought dazed was a good look on Michael.

“Really?” Calum shrugged. “Huh.” He’d liked the sting and was already planning when he could get his next tattoo, now that he’d gotten over the big hurdle of getting his parents used to the first one.

“Nope, I’m done.”

Calum knew that probably wasn’t going to be true; Michael might hate needles and temporary pain, but he wanted things engraved on his skin permanently. He’d said something similar when he’d gotten his ears pierced, but Calum knew Michael was trying to figure out where he should put his next piercing.

“You’re glad you got it, though, aren’t you?” he asked.

Michael paused and considered it. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

Their tattoos were still fresh as they settled into the house in LA where they’d stay for the next month. Michael hummed to himself as he unpacked, his bicep still somewhat sore.

Luke was practically vibrating out of his skin 24/7, since the whole reason that they were here was to work with John Feldmann, the Madden brothers, and Alex Gaskarth, along with a whole host of professional songwriters. Ashton was only barely less excited, and Michael was chalking that up to the fact that Ashton was still jetlagged. Considering that the rest of the band--and Liz--teamed up to keep Ashton from drinking caffeine in any form, jetlag hit him harder.

After having been on tour for so long, it was a little difficult to switch into songwriting mode. It was less difficult to adjust to being in a house again, though their schedules didn’t really change altogether too much. It was still a lot of early mornings and late nights.

Michael and Calum shared a room. For a lot of the tour, they’d split up in different groups--most often Calum with Ashton, and Luke with Michael--for rooming, but whenever they stayed anywhere long-term they usually fell a predictable pattern.

It took them awhile to settle into that pattern, but eventually they got into the groove of songwriting and recording demos.

Calum and Michael didn't write together all that often, since the whole band liked to work in pairs, and Luke just didn't mesh well with Ashton, writing-wise. Ashton and Michael tended to work together, being the most passionate about their instruments; they shared a wavelength and a similarity of personality that meant any ideas they bounced back and forth usually became something pretty amazing. Calum and Luke were the same, so it was never because Michael and Calum couldn’t work together, it was just that other groupings within the band worked well enough to not need to fuck around with it.

So there was something special when Michael and Calum sat down, the two of them, and wrote a song together. Usually it ended up being something stupid, light-hearted and silly--the beginnings of what would become Mrs All American came out of three giggly, drunk hours--but sometimes they wound up with something truly excellent, borne out of comfort and familiarity. Ashton gave them so much shit for writing the _long term girlfriend songs_ , as he called them, but they gave him hell right back for the one-night-stand songs.

Being that as it was, Michael relished the time when the other three boys were out. He had a personal song he was working on that he wasn’t quite ready to share with the other boys yet.

He worked on it in bits and pieces, adding together splinters of ideas to make more of a coherent song. It was sad and angry in turns, solemn when it needed to be and wondering in other moments.

Michael wrote this song for Calum, being honest in the way that only songwriting let him be. He wrote a lot of things he'd never want to actually say out loud; he carefully chose his words and let himself be cheesier than he usually would be.

Mama Liz heard him working on it as she puttered around the house; while Luke, Ashton and Calum were all out at the studio, she stayed at the house with Michael.

"What're you working on there?" she asked, leaning into the room where Michael was carefully picking out chords and trying out tweaks to the chorus.

Michael jumped about a foot into the air and nearly dropped his guitar. He did send his notebook flying.

"Um, nothing," he said. Liz picked up his notebook and set it on the bed next to him.

"Sounded like something. Sounded good."

Michael looked down at his lap. "I mean--it might be something. Eventually."

"Mind if I look at it?"

Michael weighed the pros and cons, and nodded. "I'm going to get a drink of water."

It was always nerve-wracking, waiting while someone else read his songs. He was better at performing them, but presenting songs in their incomplete roughs was always difficult. He downed two full glasses of water--cups here in America were absurdly big, he thought absently--and wandered back to where Liz still had his notebook.

“Your spelling could use some work,” she said lightly, and gave the notebook back. “It’s good. It’s very good. You’re going to show it to the other boys?”

Michael looked down. “I don’t--I don’t know yet.”

“Any reason why not?”

“It’s--it’s kind of personal. The song, I mean.”

Liz nodded in understanding. “Talk to Calum about it before you do anything more with it, I think.”

Michael spluttered. “Calum? Who said anything about--” he stopped dead at the raised eyebrow Liz was levelling at him. “I’ll talk to Calum,” he mumbled, blushing.

Michael didn’t talk to Calum. When everyone came back home, he kept the song tucked in his guitar case, even though he’d spent the rest of the day diligently working on it.

It wasn’t a bad song, he realized when he went back to look at it later. His emotional songs usually were pretty awful, in a lot of ways. But this one was simple enough to be pretty okay.

He brought it in to one of his work sessions with Feldy and Busbee, not really planning on it actually going anywhere. The thing was, they decided it was actually better than anything else he’d brought in.

So they ended up working on it.

Michael had to admit, it was getting better as they tweaked lines and helped him smooth out the chord progressions. He was just worried about Calum hearing it and thinking it was for someone else.

He snagged Calum’s elbow that evening.

“Wanna go for swimmies?” he asked. “We haven’t used the pool so much. Well, except for Luke.”

“With the whole morning laps thing?” Calum grinned. Luke was still an absolute bear when he woke up early, but he was continually waking up at the asscrack of dawn to swim laps. Michael wouldn’t mind, except Luke bitched about this entirely voluntary activity at length.

“Yeah. Plus, I’ve got a song to run by you.”

“Oh, I _knew_ you had other motives,” Calum teased. “Right, so swimmies, then songs? Just us?”

“Malum time,” Michael confirmed.

They went swimming--Calum splashed Michael with a half-dozen cannonballs into the water--until it started to dim and Liz helpfully turned on the back porch light for them. Michael hauled himself out of the pool and dried off meticulously. He spread another towel over his lap for safe measure, and unpacked his precious acoustic guitar. Beside him, Calum was doing much the same.

“So, this song?” Calum prompted. Michael’s stomach flipped. He fished through his folder for the legal pad he’d been working on most recently, and flipped through to find the final draft of the song. He handed it over and waited.

"This is amazing," Calum said after a minute, scanning over the chord notations. "You wrote this all on your own?"

Michael shrugged helplessly, hoping Calum would read between the lines.

"God, that's excellent. I'm guessing the lead-in to the chorus is for Luke? You've got the first verse?"

"I wasn't sure how to break it into parts, actually. It's not drum heavy, so Ash could sing a larger part, if he wanted it. I was hoping Steve or the other Michael could help me refine it a bit sometime this week."

Calum nodded and pointed to a section without lyrics. "Are you planning on writing a third verse?"

"I was mostly thinking I could leave it as instrumental. Depends on how it works out in the studio."

"It's really good lyrically." Calum scanned over it again, skimming his finger down the page. "I wish I'd written it."

"Thanks, Cal."

"I mean it!" Calum tried humming the chords, and Michael pulled the sheet away. “Hey!”

“We’ve got guitars, you know,” Michael said, and patted the acoustic in his lap. “I can play it, you know.”

Calum shoved at him. “I know that, asshat. It’s _good_ , I can tell that without you playing. Who's it about?"

Now, Michael snorted. Time to lay his cards on the table and hope that Calum was playing the same game. "You," he said, voice surprisingly steady. Calum inhaled sharply. "Who else would it be about?"

Calum gaped at Michael a little bit, and then flicked his gaze back to the song. He scanned through it, noticing new nuances he’d missed, things that pertained to _them_.

“God, Mikey.” Calum’s voice shook as he carefully set the paper down.

“It’s okay if you hate me,” Michael said hurriedly. “I couldn’t not tell you anymore, you had to know--”

Calum kissed Michael.

It was awkward, their guitars between them and Calum tilting his head at an uncomfortable angle, but Michael didn’t care. Calum was kissing him, and it wasn’t drunk, or tired, or friendly. It was soft, yes, and chaste, but there was clear intent there.

“You idiot,” Calum said fondly when he pulled back. “I love you.”

“Why didn’t you say?” Michael whined, trying to nudge up and steal another kiss.

“Didn’t think you loved me,” Calum said, and put aside his guitar. “Kind of a bit of a barrier to working anything out.” He stole another quick kiss, biting at Michael’s lower lip.

"Mm. No, I definitely like-like you," Michael said, matter of fact. "Love? Kiss me again and we'll discuss it."

"You're such a dick," Calum told him, but have him another kiss anyways.

They started out by the pool long enough that the sun set and the motion sensor lights flicked on every time Michael shifted against Calum.

At some point they wound their way back to their room and tumbled into bed together. They made out until Calum was yawning into Michael's mouth and they fell asleep tucked together.

Calum woke slowly, warm and content. Michael was holding his hand, their palms pressed together.

"Morning," Michael said. He was quiet, as if afraid to break this delicate moment.

Fondly, Calum pressed two fingers to Michael’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. Michael carded his fingers through Calum’s hair and then traced the same fingers over Calum’s face, brushing light and gentle over Calum’s cheek.

“What’re you doing?” Calum murmured, surprised Michael was awake this early.

“Trying to figure out if I’m dreaming, and if not, how many songs I can write before Luke attempts to murder me.”

Calum snorted and stole a kiss, not letting Michael’s wrist go. His mouth was sleep-sour and dry, but Michael didn’t mind, only pushed for more.

“We’re going to have to have a big-boy talk about this eventually,” Calum said, when Michael finally let him go.

Michael groaned. “Can’t we just ignore it for a while?”

“Love to, probably shouldn’t.”

Michael crawled so he was raised over Calum on his hands and his knees, then let all his weight drop onto Calum so they were pressed together chest to chest. “Later,” Michael insisted. “It can wait.”

“It can wait,” Calum agreed breathlessly, when Michael set to work freshening up the love bite he’d left the night before. The area was sore and hypersensitive, Michael’s mouth hot and wet against the dull throb of the bruise.

Michael liked biting, apparently, and Calum wasn’t inclined to discourage him. The lovebite felt like a badge, proof that this had really happened.

Luke never knocked--Calum made a mental note to try housetraining him at some point--and barged in just as Calum was seriously beginning to consider if Michael would let him return the favor.

“Michael, we have to--oh.” Luke covered his eyes and continued talking. “Michael, we’ve got to leave for studio time in like ten minutes, you should stop groping Calum and get ready to go.”

Michael swore long and low under his breath.

Luke saluted then and scurried out, probably to gossip to Ashton.

Michael pushed off, nearly kneeing Calum in the kidney. “I’ve got to go, I think we’re recording for demos today. Might be doing a little for The Only Reason.”

“Oh, is that why you confessed your undying love to me last night?”

“Maybe a little?” Michael shrugged, halfway out of his shirt. “I didn’t want you to hear it and think it was for anyone else.”

Calum sat up and smiled. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Michael asked. He tugged a shirt over his head--probably someone else’s--and a flannel over the top. “Go back to sleep, Callie. It’s early.”

Usually Calum would get up for a run or a swim, but he felt sleepy and languid today, like somehow he and Michael had switched personalities. He watched Michael get ready for the day--fix his hair and pull on reasonably-clean jeans--and pretended to catch the kiss Michael blew him on the way out of the door.

Calum stayed in bed for another hour, until his stomach rumbled.

Ashton was in the kitchen, in baggy basketball shorts and no shirt, clearly just back in from a run. He smiled at Calum as the kettle whistled on the counter.

“Mikey and Luke left already?”

Ashton raised an eyebrow and pulled out his earbuds; he nodded when Calum repeated the question.

“I think they’re gone until five or six,” he added, and slid out of the way so Calum could dig out his Lucky Charms and a bowl from the cupboard. “We’re supposed to be writing today, you and me, so...have you got anything?”

Calum shrugged, ideas curling in the back of his mind. “A few. I’ll bounce them off you after breakfast.”

“So, you and Michael finally over yourselves?” Ashton asked, once he’d set up mugs for tea to his satisfaction and Calum had settled in with his food. He reached up into the cupboard and pulled out a box of Cheerios, made a face, and dug around for the frosted flakes. “Or was Luke right and has Michael fucked over the band permanently?”

Calum shrugged and took a big mouthful of cereal. “Sort of,” he mumbled around the food.

“Sort of?”

Calum held up a hand to stop Ashton from asking more questions while he chewed and swallowed. “Sort of.”

“Define _sort of_.”

Ashton was watching Calum with sharp eyes, having abandoned his cereal in favor of interrogating Calum. “It’s a work in progress,” Calum said finally, well aware of the possessive hickey Michael had worried onto the skin of his collarbone. “But I think we got over ourselves. Depends on your definition.”

Ashton smiled and assembled two mugs of tea, making Calum’s almost exactly right. He slid the mug across the counter to Calum and sat down himself with his cereal and tea.

Calum wasn’t sure how he felt about his bandmates rewarding him with food every time he and Michael made progress. Clearly Ashton thought it worked, though, and Ashton had put up with the rest of them for two years now. Calum supposed he could put up with someone making him tea occasionally, especially since Michael was utter crap at making anything food related and Luke would hold his phone hostage for the next month over it.

“Are you dating, then?” Ashton asked finally, clinking his spoon against his teeth. “Or are you not calling it that?”

“Don’t know,” Cal said, and yawned. He rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder. “We’ve still got a lot to figure out.”

“What’s there to figure out?”

“Practical stuff, mostly.” Calum shrugged, jostling Ashton a bit. “If we’re serious, who we tell, how this’ll change rooming arrangements, how to go from friends to being, y’know, _together_.” He paused, reached for his tea and clutched it to his chest possessively. Ashton would probably try to take it away from him after this. “What’s too much of each other, who leaves the band if we break up.”

“Jesus, Cal,” Ashton said, and pushed at Calum until he sat up properly. “That’s morbid for a new relationship.”

“Ooh, big words,” Calum muttered and sipped at his tea. “It’s a legitimate thing, though. Right? I think Mike’d stay. It’s easier to replace a bassist, and I could always go into song writing or coaching footie or whatever.”

“Neither of you are leaving,” Ashton said, with a degree of surety that Calum wished he possessed. “We’ll put you in couples therapy if we have to, but neither of you are leaving this band.”

“Oh, such confidence in us.”

“Seriously! You and Mike are the reason this band exists. Like--yeah, it might’ve happened without one of you, but it wouldn’t have succeeded. So you’re stuck with each other and with us. You’ve dug yourself a giant pit and now we’re piling sticks on top, cos you’re not undoing this.”

“You’re a sap, Ashton Irwin.”

Ashton grinned. “Oh, definitely. C’mon, let’s go write sappy love songs.”

“We will _not_.”

Ashton started singing something to the tune of _My Heart Will Go On_ , though the lyrics certainly weren’t anything Celine Dion would have been caught dead singing. Calum looked around for something to throw at Ashton and only came up with a spoon.

They spent the day spread out on the kitchen floor. It probably would’ve been more comfortable to move the fifteen feet to the living room sofa, but Ashton had been inspired after his bastardized Celine Dion karaoke session and refused to move. Calum indulged him, leaning back against the cabinets and picking out tunes on his precious Jasey whenever Ashton hummed them.

Luke and Michael came back from the studio late and tired. Michael’s eyes were a little red rimmed, but no one mentioned it. If Michael wanted to talk about it, he would. Luke, Ashton, and Liz volunteered to fetch dinner from the Chinese place a few blocks away--everyone theoretically knew how to cook, but no one felt like it today.

Michael’s voice was rough, like it generally was after a day in the studio--even when they were just songwriting, they spent hours testing out lines, practicing harmonies, trying to sort out the way they wanted a song to sound. Luke and Michael in particular ran each other ragged.

“Tea,” Michael said, as soon as the others were out the door. “I want tea.”

“I’ll get you tea,” Calum promised. He steered Michael to sit at the kitchen counter and kissed the top of his head, fluffing through the pale white strands. “But we’ve _got_ to talk.”

“Ugh,” Michael said, and promptly nodded off, head pillowed on his arms. Calum woke him ten minutes later with a gentle push.

Michael looked a little nauseous in addition to tired. “Big boy pants time?”

“Big boy pants time,” Calum confirmed, rubbing at his forehead.

“Tea?”

Wordlessly, Calum pushed a mug across the table. Michael cocked his head at it. “Is this--”

“Lapsang souchong with half and half and honey,” Calum said automatically. “I don’t get how you drink white tea with honey.”

“I like it,” Michael said, and took a sip. “I do like this, right?”

“That is, in fact, how you drink your tea when you’re not drowning it in sugar and no milk,” Calum said dryly. He took a sip of his own tea. “Right. Big boy pants.”

Michael made a face and started talking. They went back and forth for an hour, hammering out band details and friendship details, trying to lay ground rules.

(“No sex on the bus,” Mikey said, raising an eyebrow.

“But--”

“No.” Michael folded his arms across his chest. “I’m okay with scarring Luke and Ashton, but I’m not okay with scarring Luke’s mum. Because she would tell my mum. And then we wouldn’t have a band. Because Luke and I would be back in Sydney. Forever.”

“But--” Calum sighed. “But _bus sex_. And tour!”

“No sex on the bus when Mumma Liz is within two kilometres,” Michael amended.)

By the time the Hemmings and Ashton returned, they'd figured out that they were mostly on the same page, and had scribbled out something that vaguely resembled a pre-nup, because Calum was awful like that sometimes. Calum was both bizarrely proud and horrified at how adult they were acting about this, but he supposed it had been a long time coming.

Ashton put his load of bags on the counter and stretched until his spine cracked. Michael made a face at the noise. “You two have fun?”

Michael put his head back down on the counter while Calum hummed. “We made a dent.” He scribbled one last line on their list and made grabby hands at the food bags. “If there’s not wonton soup in there, I reserve the right to murder you and leave your corpse in the pool.”

“Michael won’t let me kill you, right Michael?”

“Fairly certain I have to side with my boyfriend,” Michael said, not picking his head up. “Think that’s how it works, anyways.”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” Luke asked, and slung an arm around Calum’s neck. “I thought it was Cake forever?”

“Get your hands off my boyfriend,” Michael said, but there was no heat to it. Liz was watching the four of them with cautious, wary eyes. “Or I’ll be forced to eat your lo mein, and then everyone will be sad.”

Ashton snorted and threw a stack of napkins at Luke. Luke let go of Calum to catch them, giggling, and went to get forks from the drawer. Michael sat up and started to help Ashton unpack the food.

“You’re being awfully adult about this,” Liz said, as she fetched plates.

“Well, it’s serious, isn’t it?” Michael said, and grabbed a carton of rice for himself. “We’ve sort of got a lot of interest in making it work, right?”

“Fair point. What’d you two talk about?”

Michael exchanged a glance with Calum. He didn’t particularly want to bring up their bus discussion.

“Distance,” Calum said. He passed Michael a plate. “Like--Mikey and I live together, we work together, we play together. We have to figure out how much of each other is--too much.”

Luke nodded, catching on; he started humming All Time Low’s _Too Much_. Michael threw a fortune cookie at him.

==

Calum loved his bandmates most of the time. Like, he was pretty sure he loved Michael, and like eighty percent certain he loved Ashton and Luke on days beginning with ‘T’.

Today was not one of those days.

“Oh my god,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “What the _hell_?”

“First time goody basket only,” Ashton said cheerfully. Michael was still digging into the wicker basket with glee. Calum was trying to melt into the floor. “This is never happening again.”

“Oh my god is this bacon flavored lube?” Michael asked, triumphantly holding up a little bottle. He sounded entirely too gleeful for the situation at hand.

Luke nodded. “Yup. There’s also peanut butter flavored lube--”

Calum choked. “ _Why?_ ”

“And there’s one called Whiskey Dick, which, I was actually considering keeping for myself--”

“Luke, no, why would you do this to us--”

“Oh! And the yellow dildo is dishwasher safe.” He paused. “Please don’t ever put it in the dishwasher.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Calum groaned. He was flushed six shades of red, but his bandmates didn’t even seem fazed.

“I’m still not sure how a dildo can be dishwasher safe at all,” Ashton mused.

“Are these novelty condoms?” Michael asked. He pulled out a string of them. Calum whimpered pathetically and tried to sink lower in his seat. “Oh! They’re green!”

Ashton leaned over to rummage in the basket. “I think we found a novelty Pikachu one.”

“I hope you all die.”

“And Ashton found weed flavored condoms when we were in Oregon.”

Michael looked delighted. “Were you two trolling sex shops without us?”

Ashton at least had the grace to look vaguely ashamed. “Look, there was a novelty condom shop and you can’t just _not_ buy something when you wander into a novelty condom shop.”

“Please stop saying novelty condom shop,” Calum begged.

That, of course, just made Luke and Ashton chant it. Or, they did, at least, until Liz came in to investigate the ruckus.

“I don’t think I want to know,” she said, as she took in the basket of sex paraphernalia strewn across the table and Luke’s suddenly beet-red expression. “Right, let’s try this again--I’ll go out into the hallway and come back in, and all of that had better be put away when I do, or else I’ll have to be start calling mums and dads, and quite frankly I don’t really want to do that. Ignorance is bliss, really.”

She did go back out into the hallway, and Ashton haphazardly swept everything back into the basket. Michael kicked it under the table, just as Liz came back in.

“So,” Liz said brightly. “How’s work going, boys?”

Ashton and Luke’s gift basket made Michael and Calum to have some interesting, embarrassing conversations.

(“That flavored lube is going nowhere near my ass.”

“But it’s _whiskey flavored--”_

 _“_ I don’t want a yeast infection--”

“Can guys even get yeast infections?”

“I dunno. Google it?”

“Too much work. So if we’re not using it for--assy things, what are we--”

“Did you just say _assy things_?”

“Shut up. What are we using the flavored lube for?”

“Blowies?”)

Those conversations led to discussions and revelations about what they wanted from each other and how far they were willing to go. It was weird, discussing the sex they weren’t having in detail (their “hypothetical sex”, as Michael put it), but Michael was really determined to get this right.

“I’m the only one who’s dated another boy,” he said pragmatically. “And we’ve never dated anyone within the band, so we should make sure it’s like, green lights all the way.”

“Green lights? What are we, race cars?”

Michael hit Calum on the shoulder. “No, I mean--I want to make it good for you.” Calum stopped teasing Michael for his earnestness after that.

As a result of their conversations, Calum and Michael wrote a song they dubbed Greenlight. Calum insisted on throwing on a line about Katy Perry and Megan Fox, reminding Michael that hey, he was bi while Michael considered himself fully gay. That led to a bickering argument that lasted almost a week before they handed the song over to their producers. From there, the song changed into something a little less explicit (Michael honestly thought that line about blowjobs was really inspired, honestly, and was significantly disappointed when they took it out in favor of a subtler sexual implication).

Michael got so wrapped up in the idea of finishing Greenlight and the other songs he was writing that he honestly forgot they'd be working with Alex Gaskarth. They'd worked with the Madden Brothers for three straight days, and Michael had been starstruck for all of them. Calum, surprisingly enough, wasn’t all that stunned.

Alex was cool, but he wasn’t exactly intimidating, not when Calum’s first introduction to him involved Feldy’s dog and a very poorly placed squeaky toy. Alex had tripped, landed on his back and then tried to act cool with a very enthusiastic dog licking his chin.

“Hey,” Alex fucking Gaskarth said, with a fluffy white dog lying on his chest. Feldy wasn't bothering to hide his laughter.

“Can we come in?”

“Yeah, we’re working in the living room and the backyard.” Alex looked at the dog. “Can you get off me, please?”

Four hours later, they were scattered, working. Michael and Luke were drafting ideas, while Ashton got thoroughly distracted with Feldy’s kids. Calum was working one on one with Feldy and Alex. Or he was, until Michael and Luke came shrieking out of the house, chased by Ashton and the Feldmann kids.

They got distracted into a water fight then, with Calum scrambling to protect his bass and Alex to protect his guitar. WIth their instruments safely in their cases, it was all out war. It only ended when the Feldman kids toppled into the water with twin shrieks and were helped out by Luke and Ashton.

“Okay, back to work,” Alex said. His hair was dripping. Feldy chucked everyone clean towels as Michael settled onto one of the sun loungers. Presumably he was there to eavesdrop and drool over Alex.

Caum considered being jealous, or he did until Michael squirted water from his bottle at Calum. It was freezing cold, causing Calum to shriek.

“Stay hydrated,” Michael shouted, and chucked the bottle at Calum.

“You’re a dick, I hope you know that,” Calum said, but he took the bottle from Michael anyways.

Before he could go inside, Calum caught Michael’s sleeve. “Oh, hey, can you grab, uh, Jasey for me? I’ve got Josie.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow. “She by the door?”

“Yeah, unless Ashton’s run off with her again.”

“He’s got his own--”

“You try telling him that--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Michael tugged free of Calum, then darted back and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. He bolted into the house, shouting for Ashton.

“Jasey?”

Calum flushed, suddenly remembering that _oh_ , he was working with Alex fucking Gaskarth.

“Um.”

“Jasey?” Alex repeated.

“I named my first steel-string Jasey?” Calum buried his face in his hands, feeling how warm his cheeks were. “I’m going to go die in a hole now.”

“No, it’s flattering. Jasey’s your acoustic? What’s your bass named?”

Calum looked up. “Uh. This one’s Josie. The one I usually use is Jamie.” His face was still a deep shade of red from humiliation, though Feldy and Alex mostly just looked amused.

Feldy hummed. “I once knew a drummer who named all of her drumsticks after her ex.”

Alex and Calum stared at him.

“Hey, all of us musicians are fucking weird.”

“That’s--that’s extra weird,” Calum put in, grateful for the attention being off of his instrument naming choices.

Feldy just gave Calum an unimpressed look. “You’re the one who named your bass after the ideal girlfriend.”

“I never said that-”

“Did you really?” Alex asked.

Feldy started humming _Josie_. Alex burst out laughing.

“Okay, yes, shut up, can we move on now?”

“No, this is amusing.”

“I hate everything.”

“You did this to yourself.” Feldy was entirely unsympathetic. “We have blackmail now.”

Alex braced his elbows on his knees. “See, I was thinking more of an eternal servitude sort of thing? You can tune my guitars and shit, be my personal tour monkey.”

Calum was saved by Ashton coming out of the house with Jasey.

“Mike said you needed this,” Ashton said, carefully handing Jasey over. “I said I’d run it out, cos I wanted to show you something, but I’ll fuck off if you’re already working on something.”

Calum set about checking his tunings. He had to bat Alex away a few times.

“I just want to see the guitar named in my honor,” Alex whined. Calum was mostly hoping Alex wouldn’t actually run away with his guitar. Ashton was bad enough when it came to that.

“Aw, man, you told them about that?” Ashton sat down, grinning at Calum. “Seriously?”

Calum groaned and hid his face in his hands again.

==

Once they were done tormenting Calum, they produced roughs of three songs. All of them needed fine-tuning, and at least one of them was out of Calum’s vocal range (damn Ashton for putting those notes in, honestly).

They worked until Amy called Feldy away to help with dinner, and somehow they all got roped into assisting, chatting the whole way. Alex brought up Rian and Cassadee, which led to a discussion about female vocalists.

“Remind me to show you some of the stuff I’ve been messing around with for a female vocalist,” Feldy said, reaching over to hook his phone up to the aux cord connecting to the sound system. “Actually, hang on, I can probably--”

Amy laughed and set a bowl of what looked like orange chips on the table. Michael thought Feldy had called them sweet potato fries, but he wasn’t quite sure. “I think you forgot it’s my night to pick music, John.”

Michael watched the Feldmanns bicker from where he had his head rested on Calum’s shoulder. Liz joined them bearing a pitcher, Luke trailing behind her with a stack of plastic cups.

“I listen to a lot of country,” Amy explained, plugging her phone into the aux cord. “John thinks it’s ridiculous, but I grew up with it.”

Alex snorted and passed the truly enormous bowl of salad along the table. The bowl had barely left his hands before Feldy was thrusting a platter of veggie burgers at him.

“It really is ridiculous,” Feldy insisted. He paused to give Alex a knowing look. “Alex, if my six year old eats that, you can eat it.”

“It’s made of _lentils_ ,” Alex protested good naturedly but took a burger. “Don’t call it a burger, call it something else. Burgers are beef.”

“Not in this case, they’re not.”

Music started with a guitar riff; Feldy groaned. “Really, Amy? Rascal Flatts?”

She grinned, not even pretending to be innocent. Her children didn’t blink, happily munching on their food. “As much as you hate your hometown, I love mine.” She slid into her chair and served herself lemonade. “That’s the difference between country and punk. Country’s all about loving where you’re from, punk’s about getting out of dodge.”

“Yeah, but _banjos_ ,” Feldy said. “I could argue the other differences too, but we’ll start with banjos.”

Michael let Calum put food on both their plates, too entertained by the Feldmann’s bickering.

“Don’t make me get my banjo out,” Amy threatened. “I’ll do it. We’ll see how your songwriting goes when I start playing.”

“Would you teach me?” Michael heard himself say, and didn’t bother to blush when everyone turned to stare at him. “What? Calum plays bass _and_ guitar. I need to catch up.”

There was a beat of silence, before Amy punched the air. “Yes! I’ve contaminated one of yours,” she hissed at her husband, causing everyone else to dissolve into laughter. “I’ll get all of them eventually!”

That was how, after dinner, Michael found himself sitting in the kitchen, experimenting with Amy’s banjo while she scribbled down song recommendations on a grocery list.

“You’re a pop-punk guitarist,” she said. She traced around one of the flowers printed at the top of the list, darkening the edges. “So you’ll like more of the rock’n’roll influenced stuff. Eighties cowpunk and maybe some of the punkier Americana alt-country stuff and the like.”

“Cowpunk?”

“Uh. You’ve gotta hear it, really.”

“No one likes Cowpunk,” Feldy said. He was scrubbing dishes and passing them to Ashton to put in the dishwasher. Alex was leaning on the counter, watching with an amused expression every time Michael tried a new chord. “ _No one_.”

“I like Cowpunk,” Amy said mildly.

“Yeah, you’re no one.”

“Thanks, dear. Having fun with that fifth string, there, Mike?”

“It attaches weirdly,” Michael complained, and picked out a truly awful noise. “Why’s it do that for?”

Amy shrugged. “It’s always been like that, that’s how banjos do their thing. Oh, you’d probably like Brad Paisley, he’s always got good guitar parts. And George Strait, of course.”

“You are _not_ making him listen to George Strait.”

“I’m not _making_ him do anything.” Amy flicked the pen cap at Feldy, who ducked it, laughing. “Michael, do you want recently-divorced single mom country, or get-drunk-paint-the-town-red country?”

“Um. Get-drunk-paint-the-town-red country.”

“Good boy. You might want to try messing around on the mandolin a little.”

“Mandolin?”

“We don’t have one of those,” Feldy said suspiciously. “Amy, we don’t have one of those, right?

“Oh, maybe. Do you think I could get him to like electroswing?”

As it turned out, Michael didn’t like electroswing, and he didn’t really feel the same pull towards the banjo as he had towards guitar, years and years ago, but he did end up liking country quite a lot.

It was fun discovering new music, especially since there wasn’t a whole lot of new ground to explore in pop punk anymore. Country was different enough there hadn’t been much crossover between punk and country, so Michael hadn’t even tangentially explored country at all.

Calum thought it was hilarious the way that Michael was methodically assembling a country playlist titled “CALUM” on his laptop. Luke mostly worried that Michael would try to write country-style and tried his best to dissuade that. Ashton glared every time Michael turned up the volume too loud. He was deeply entrenched in a crunk metal phase though, so he didn’t really have any room to talk. Michael maintained that crunkcore was weirder than cowpunk, and both Luke and Calum refused to break their argument with an opinion.

Michael mostly chalked it up to the variety of soppy love songs he found and enjoyed, and the sheer anger of the breakup songs. It was refreshing and fun and a little embarrassing, but that was the whole point of music, wasn’t it?

Calum was content to sit and listen to whatever Michael was into; while he himself was hip deep in a classical music kick, he enjoyed seeing Michael flush happily as he chattered about a particularly impactful bassline or a clever lyric.

==

As much as the band spent most of their time together, sometimes it didn’t feel like quite enough. When they were in houses, it felt strange to have so much space, even though they felt far too cramped in buses.

Calum woke up early enough to go on a run with Ashton, who then begged off further time together by wandering off to text Ashley, presumably to whine about how slow his relationship with Gemma Styles was progressing.

Luke was Calum’s next target, found in the living room petting absentmindedly at their plastic dog Ketchup and facetiming his brothers.

“Go bug your Mikey,” Luke grumbled at the sight of Calum, and flopped back down onto the couch. “M’busy.”

Calum found Michael sprawled out on the back deck, basking in the sun. He was reminded of cats sprawled out with their tender bellies up, soaking in as much warmth as they could.

Calum laughed at Michael as he pushed his way outside--Michael didn’t tan so much as he scorched, though it looked like he’d put on enough sunblock to prevent all but the faintest freckling.

“What’re you up to?” Calum asked, folding himself up to sit beside Michael. “It looks like you’re trying to tan, but that couldn’t possibly be true.”

“Fuck off,” Michael said airily. He lifted his sunglasses to glare haughtily at Calum. “It’s warm and nice here. I was trying to nap.”

“Missing the motherland, huh?”

“A little. You going to lie down and bask, or you going to leave me alone?”

“I could do with some basking.” Calum went inside and fetched a towel to lie on, and, on second thought, retrieved the highest value SPF sunblock they had in the house. “Want me to put more sunscreen on your shoulders?”

Michael peered suspiciously at Calum, before apparently remembering that Calum wasn’t Luke and therefore this probably wasn’t a trick of some sort.

“Sure,” he said, and flopped over onto his belly. He pillowed his head on his arms and closed his eyes again, relaxing.

Calum grinned. This was going to be fun. He carefully squeezed a dollop of sunscreen onto his palms and began rubbing it into Michael’s shoulders with wide, smooth strokes. He found the spots on Michael’s shoulders where he was tense and rubbed the knots out; Michael moaned shamelessly at the contact, squirming against his towel.

“Oh, _fuck_ , that feels good,” Michael sighed. Calum grinned proudly; he’d earned his reputation as the best in the band for working out tension knots, and Michael knew that. When Calum had played footie, he’d gotten awful cramps in his calves from his growth spurts, and after he’d learned to ease the pain on himself, he’d practised on Michael, who had a chronically bad back from poor posture. Now, though, the massage was more for teasing Michael rather than actual medical relief.

As Michael arched back into his hands, Calum moved himself to sit on Michael’s thighs and pin him down a little. Michael was sun warm where their bare skin made contact, soft and a little greasy from the sunscreen he’d applied himself.

Calum added more sunscreen to Michael’s lower back, drawing his name with his fingertips before carefully massaging the lotion into Michael’s pale skin. From here, he could see the faint freckles dotting over Michael’s back as a result of his sun exposure.

He let his hands wander lower, dipping under the waistband of Michael’s swim trunks to rub over the top of Michael’s ass. He probably would have started on Michael’s thighs if Luke hadn’t called for Michael from the house.

“Mike, we’ve gotta go! We’re supposed to be at the studio in fifteen minutes, c’mon!”

Calum swung off Michael’s thighs to sit on his own towel. He snagged Michael’s sunnies. “You heard the man, time to go.”

Michael glared at him and pushed to his feet.

“You’re a horrible tease,” Michael said unsteadily. Calum was pleased to note that Michael was hard and flushed high in his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ horrible tease.”

“Someday that line will stop working on me,” Michael grumbled, and wandered off into the house to change into clothes more appropriate than swim trunks for a recording studio.

Calum yawned and stretched out on Michael’s towel. Unlike his boyfriend, he didn’t burn, only gained a healthy bronze glow. He wasn’t due in the studio until tomorrow, and he could do with a nice nap in the sun. He knew Michael would get revenge for this stunt at some point, but he wasn’t too worried.

It did turn into a competition; Michael wore tighter jeans than normal slung low on his hips or shirts that showed off his collarbones. In retaliation, Calum made sure to get sweaty and hang around where Michael could see it. There was an inordinate amount of lap sitting and carefully timed wriggling, until Luke and Ashton threatened to put a ban on Michael and Calum so much as looking at each other.

**==**

**SEPTEMBER 2013** \--Ashton 19, Michael Calum & Luke 17

==

The way they figured themselves out was stuttering and slow. It was awkward, sorting out what was different and what rights they had to each other. Calum was grateful for the fact that this had happened now, when they were steadily based out of LA, rather than trying to sort this out in the chaos of tour.

As it was, they cycled through far, far too many bickering spats and passionate song ideas before they figured out some modicum of balance.

They only managed to go on their first real, proper date a week after they officially started dating. Michael was oddly secretive about what they were going to do, and seemed ready to make a big deal of it. Calum would’ve been okay with just hanging out in track bottoms and watching a movie so long as it was dedicated one-on-one time with Michael, and hopefully involved kissing and a marked lack of clothes.

It was half-hilarious and half-sweet to see Michael trying his damndest to be a gentleman for this perfect date, especially when Calum considered that he’d definitely seen Michael try to eat a whole can of cheez whiz by squirting it directly in his mouth _more than once_ in the past two weeks.

Michael insisted that they dress casual, and when they left, he inexplicably brought a backpack.

“C’mon,” Michael said, and pulled Calum down the block. Calum went, giggling a little at the giddy feeling rising in his chest at holding Michael’s hand.

They wound up in a park, on a green lawn scattered with picnic blankets set up in front of a projection screen.

“They do community movies on Thursday evenings in the summer,” Michael explained shyly. “And, uh. They’re doing the _Land Before Time_ , the original Spielberg one, and _Meet the Robinsons_ back to back tonight and I thought we could watch them?” He bit his lip nervously. “Only if you want to, though.”

“No _duh_ I want to,” Calum said. The nervous look on Michael’s face evaporated into pleased pride, and Calum was reminded at how little actual experience Michael had with dating.

“I brought a blanket so we could sit on the grass,” Michael said, and oh, _that_ was what the backpack was for. “And some popcorn too.”

Calum was struck by the effort Michael had put into this, not only voluntarily spending time in a park, of all places, but finding a movie night that was playing movies that they’d watched for the first time together as kids.

They found a good spot to sit; it was somewhat towards the back of the grassy area, halfway in the shade of a tree and halfway in the sun. Around them, families with kids and other young couples were settling into their own spots. Community announcements were flickering across the projector screen, accompanied by eighties pop-rock over the speakers. A casual football match was going on off to the side, which Calum was eyeing with interest.

“You can go play if you want,” Michael said, seeing where Calum’s gaze was going.

“Nah,” Calum said, surprising Michael. “I’d rather stay with you.”

Michael yelped when Calum grabbed his hand and spun him around to the sound of The Romantics; he stumbled into Calum until he gained his footing.

“ _Keep on whispering in my ear_ ,” Calum sang quietly. Michael shouldn’t have been surprised that Calum knew all the lyrics but he still giggled along. “ _Tell me all the things that I wanna hear, cos it’s true--_ ” was as far as Calum made it before he dissolved into giggles right along with Michael. The music cycled through Joan Jett and Def Leppard before they gave up, laughing too hard to continue.

“Timer says two minutes until they start,” Michael said breathlessly when they finally stopped dancing. Around them, little kids and other couples were still enjoying the music. Calum liked the flush rising in Michael’s cheeks and leaned over to kiss him. Michael was flushing even more when Calum pulled back.

Michael stretched out and rested his head in Calum’s lap; his hairline was damp with sweat, which Calum smoothed back.

The chatter around them died down as _The Land Before Time_ started; there was a fifteen minute break between the films and the whole affair was technically done by 9:30--Calum and Michael had gotten distracted halfway through _Meet the Robinsons_ with kissing, which Calum really wasn’t opposed to. They lingered in the park longer than the families and most of the other couples, wrapped up in making out on the worn blanket.

They finally left when the projector screen was folded up and taken away; the field was suddenly much dimmer.

Calum helped Michael fold the blanket back up into his backpack and they wandered down the block, holding hands in the dim streetlights.

They wound up in an American-style diner. Calum wasn’t sure if he was surprised if a restaurant like this existed in health-conscious LA and decided he didn’t care. Michael took advantage of their 24-hour breakfast menu to get a ridiculously tall stack of waffles while Calum stuck to a burger.

They stayed there late, talking and grinning shyly at each other over their food. Calum would’ve expected that it’d be different, now that this was _dating_ and not just hanging out with his best friend, but the only real difference was that Michael played footsie with him under the table and held his hand on top of it.

It was vastly unlike any other first date Calum had ever been on, though if Luke and Ashton were to be believed, this wasn’t even close to Michael and Calum’s first date.

Michael insisted on paying when they were done, and it was closer to dawn than sunset when they finally returned home.

“Good date?” Michael asked, as they tried to quietly toe off their shoes and slip upstairs without waking up Ashton, Luke or Liz.

Calum paused on the step ahead of Michael and turned to kiss him. “Excellent date,” he said, and kissed him again.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood on the stairs and kissed; all he was really recognizing was that this sort of height difference was a little awkward but _so fucking worth it_.

Someone coughed and flicked on the stairwell light.

“Bed, you two,” Liz said imperiously, and then paused. “ _Seperately_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both recited obediently and shuffled past her into the room they shared. They both changed for bed, exchanging quietly flirty glances. They started out in their own beds--they’d split up their makeshift king at Liz’s orders--but when Calum woke up, Michael was curled up next to him in his bed. Calum kind of thought it was stupid of Liz to have made them split up their big bed; when they were crammed into a twin like this, so much more of them touched. So much more of them was intertwined when they curled into a smaller bed than when they shared a larger one.

Calum stretched and shifted so they were more aligned, and dozed back off.

==

They didn’t have sex, which would be vaguely frustrating if Calum didn’t understand exactly why sex wasn’t happening.

They didn’t have a ton of privacy or alone time, especially after Liz laid down ground rules and made them room separately. Even beyond that, they were running ragged trying to write and record as many demos as they could before they had to go on tour again. They were flying out to London a week into September, and then to Sydney to start the third leg of the TMH tour a week after that.

They didn’t tell anyone outside of the band just yet. Michael was still intensely private, and having spent as much time as they had in the fishbowl of quasi-fame, Calum was inclined to agree with him.

Since they were only in London for three days, they tried to shift to Sydney time rather than London time; as a result, they were all drinking a lot of coffee (with the exception of Ashton, who kept going for runs) and dozing through meetings. The upside was that Liz was as tired as they were and didn’t bother intervening when Michael and Calum chose to room together.

So as tired as they were, they still took advantage of having a room and an hour to themselves.

Calum arched up for a kiss, which Michael gave him gladly. This was Calum’s new favourite place, Michael pressing him down, Michael taking the lead and taking what he wanted.

Michael bit at Calum’s lip and made a delighted noise when Calum moaned. Calum didn’t know why he was surprised--Calum had never been shy about liking being bitten and scratched, and Michael had never been shy about liking to bite and scratch.

Calum let Michael hold his wrists down, let Michael take kiss after kiss, let Michael bite a love bite into the thin skin over his collarbones, let Michael soothe the bruise over with little kisses.

“Mine,” Michael said, determined as Calum had ever seen him.

“Yours.”

Ashton knocked, an hour later. “Michael, Cal, we’re going to dinner!”

Michael groaned but rolled off of Calum and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Give us a min,” he called back. Calum sat up and rubbed gently at the darkening bruises that dotted up the column of his neck. Michael had meant business when he’d bitten those there, and the pleasant sting hummed through his veins.

“Too late, coming in,” Luke called, just as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Oh, Jesus, really?” Ashton said, seeing Michael’s smug look and Calum’s appearance. “Really, Mike, really?”

Luke whistled. “Didn’t know we had a vampire in the band.”

Calum flushed but Michael just smirked and rolled off the bed. He threw Calum’s jeans at him and went searching for something other than sweatpants to wear out of the hotel. Calum was a little mesmerized as Michael shucked his sweatpants and started to tug on skinny jeans.

“So we’re going to need a system,” Luke was saying when Calum tuned back in. By the expression on Ashton’s face, Calum had missed something while watching Michael change. “So Ash and I don’t walk in on you two fucking.”

“Please, it’d be making love,” Calum said at the same time that Michael replied with, “As if Cal wouldn’t be loud enough for you to hear across the hotel.”

“We’ve seen both of them naked,” Ashton added cheerfully, having chosen to recline on the unused bed. “It’s just how much blackmail material you can get out of it at this point.”

“I’d still rather not see certain things,” Luke said, and Calum was violently reminded of Luke confessing he’d had a crush on him ages and ages ago. Michael threw his used sweatpants at Luke, and the legs tangled around Luke’s neck, dangling off his shoulder like the world’s ugliest scarf.

Calum found the motivation to put on his jeans and get out of bed.

“What’re we eating for dinner?”

“Italian with 1D, and Gemma and Mali-Koa,” Ashton said. “Harry’s treating, something about losing a bet with Niall and Louis.”

“Footie?”

Ashton shrugged, his grin infectious. “What else could it be?”

“Literally anything,” Luke deadpanned. He’d fished out his phone and snapped a quick photo of Calum doing up his flies and Michael flipping him off in the background. “What _don’t_ the 1D boys bet on?”

“Nothing, probably,” Calum grumbled. “Mali’s coming?”

Ashton lit up. “She’s really good friends with Gemma.”

“Jesus, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

Ashton gave Michael a two-fingered salute. “Fuck off, not all of us are oblivious about the beauty of the human form.”

“No, I’m definitely not oblivious to how sexy Calum is.”

“He wrote Gemma a song,” Luke interjected, grinning evilly. “And not a good one either.”

“Hey! It’s good!” Ashton protested.

“It’s salvageable.” Ashton stuck his tongue out at Luke, who returned the gesture. “LIke, a lot of work salvageable.”

“Seriously, it’s not that bad--”

Michael mussed with his hair in the mirror, ruffling it to the perfect state of disorganization. “Like, complete rewrite salvageable?”

“Fuck you guys--”

“You used the word effervescent and rhymed it with scent,” Luke said, not at all sympathetic. “You deserve all the mocking in the world, Ash.”

“Can we go yet?” Calum asked. “I’m starving.”

Luke jerked his head towards the door and followed Ashton into the hallway as Michael said “yeah, I noticed your stomach grumbling when we were making out.”

Ashton pretended to gag. “Jesus, can you two _try_ not to ruin a perfectly good free meal?”

“We haven’t eaten yet,” Calum pointed out helpfully. Or left the hotel even. So it’s not like there’s anything to ruin yet.”

Ashton grumbled but conceded the point, quickly getting distracted when Luke snagged Ashton’s phone out of his hand and starting a game of keepaway. There were fans outside the hotel, becuase there always were now, but it was nothing in comparison to the number of fans that 1D’s security was dispatching outside the Italian place.

Michael was a little surprised that it was a little hole in the wall joint rather than a fancy five-star place like Harry usually preferred, but he quickly got an answer when they walked in and heard Niall’s voice loud and clear above the general din of a busy restaurant. From what Michael could hear--there was a lot of conversation going on, Niall’s accent was thick, and there was an incredibly loud round of Italian music playing over the speakers--Niall was raphodizing over the breadsticks and eagerly explaining to a disinterested Mali-Koa how this place had far and beyond the best food in London.

They scattered into the open seats around the table. Liz, Ashton and Luke were kind enough to give Calum and Michael the only two seats left together. Their security went to help 1D’s security outside; Michael knew without asking that Harry would have ordered extra food for each member of the security team and would have it neatly boxed up for them by the time they were back at their hotel. It was the kind of thing Harry just did, even if he hadn’t recently lost a bet.

They’d only just settled in and started perusing the menus when Harry looked between Michael and Calum, and smiled, as if he could see their hands linked under the table.

“Worked it out, then?” he said, deep and slow. Michael flushed but Calum replied with a small, quiet nod. Harry’s small smile broke into a wide grin. “Hey, Niall,” Harry said without looking away.

“Yeah?”

“Malum? I win.”

“You cheated!” Niall exclaimed, but leaned back in his chair and shook his head at them fondly. “Congrats, lads.”

“You _bet_ on us?”

“‘Course we did,” Zayn said disdainfully, looking up from the basket of bread he was slowly demolishing singlehandedly. “We have bets on how many times a day Liam will fart, what makes you think we wouldn’t bet on how long it would take you two to figure ourselves out?”

Ashton looked over from where he’d been immersed in conversation with Gemma and Mali-Koa. “Luke and I had bets too, but we never thought it’d take longer than two years, and two world tours. Assholes.”

Mali hugged Michael, off to the side. “Brother two,” she said solemnly. Michael flushed a little, embarrassed around Mali-Koa still. “Take care of Calum for me, yeah?”

“I think he takes care of me.”

“Oh, maybe,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “But you make his life better. Keep doing that.”

“No baseball bat speech?”

Mali shook her head. “You don’t need one,” she said decisively, and linked arms with him. “You and Calum are coming back to mine and I’m getting you drunk so you’ll finally tell me how you sorted yourselves out.”

“And make Luke go back to the hotel alone?” Michael asked, looking over at his bandmate, an arm slung around Calum’s waist. “Ash is definitely going home with Gemma.”

“Then Luke gets some much needed time away from you and we can test how bad your separation anxiety has gotten. Besides, I’m sure Liz would love one-on-one time with her actual blood son.”

“Liz is paying a visit to the hotel spa,” Liz said, leaning over to push a portion of her eggplant parmesean onto Michael’s place and steal some of his chicken marsala. “Luke can entertain himself for the evening. He’s a big boy.”

Mal looked smug. “See? C’mon, sibling rules say you have to dish. Both of you.”

“How much dishing do you want, exactly? Because I don’t think you want to hear about Luke and Ashton’s Sex Gift Basket of Wonders.”

Mali paused. “I don’t think I want to hear about that, maybe. But I want to know how you sorted yourselves out. And I better get permission to start a pintrest wedding board for you two.”

They were among the first to leave, piling into a taxi to get back to Gemma and Mali’s place. Gemma and Ashton had been kind enough to go back to the hotel rather than Gemma’s flat, leaving the Hood siblings and Michael to get drunk all over the living room.

It was good to be with Mali-Koa again, Calum thought, far too comfortable on the living room floor. Michael had excused himself to the bathroom at some point and not returned; Calum was pretty sure his boyfriend was sitting on the bathroom counter and texting Ashley to give the Hood siblings time alone.

“You happy, Cal-e?” Mali asked, setting her wineglass down. While she’d produced cups that she’d bragged were unbreakable (leading to Michael proving that they were, in fact, unbreakable) for Calum and Michael, she herself sipped from a wineglass etched with swirling white flowers.

“Yeah,” Calum said, hardly beliving that they’d both ended up in London, doing what they loved. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking happy, Mals.”

==

 

“You did your hair again?” Harry asked. They were hanging out in the dressing room, and it was the first time Michael and Harry had spent a significant amount of time alone since they’d broken up.

“Lou’s helped me go blue,” Michael said carefully. He wasn’t sure how he could act around Harry anymore. “Like, really blue.” He gestured ineffectively at his hair.

“You look good like that.”

Michael paused. “What--what were we, Haz?”

“Hm?”

“I mean. We were something, for awhile, and then--we weren’t anything. And you bet on me and Calum, and seemed happy for us. So--what were we?”

Harry sighed. “What’s anything, really?”

“Harry.”

“We liked each other. We loved other people. Can that be enough for your definition?”

“No.” Michael shoook his head. “No. It wasn’t, and it isn’t, and--I want things to be defined.”

“I liked you, Michael. I still like you. You just love someone else.”

“And so do you!” Michael put his comb down, barely notcing how many blue strands had come out. “So. I want some space from you, I think.”

Harry had leaned over, as if to kiss Michael’s cheek, and stopped. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Harry started to go, and paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry it ended the way it did. But I’m glad you have Calum, Michael.”

“Me too,” Michael said, and Harry was gone.

 

**==**

**OCTOBER 2013** \--Ashton 19, Michael Calum & Luke 17

==

 

They were home for a weekend before the Australian leg of the tour kicked off, just enough time to readjust to the time zone.

Michael was home alone, since his parents had gotten the dates Michael would be home mixed up and couldn’t readjust their work schedules to be back in time. He rattled around the house alone, appreciating the quiet but missing his parents. Or, he did until Calum came over.

They set up on Michael’s floor, just like old times. It felt right to be here together, to push their relationship a little further together here, in the place where they started.

“Do you think we would have been without the band?” Michael asked, sprawled out on the floor. Calum was tucked into his side.

“Well, we’re us, aren’t we?” Calum said.

Michael hid a grin. It was always nice to hear Calum’s faith in them. “I think we would’ve. Or one of us would’ve dated Luke.”

Michael pretended to gag. “Don’t even _joke_ about that.” He leaned up to peck Calum on the mouth. “Much rather date you, honestly.”

That quick peck turned into a long, slow kiss, which turned into Calum pinning Michael to the floor and coaxing him out of his clothes.

There weren’t many unknown things left between Michael and Calum. They’d known each other for longer than they hadn’t by now, had spent more time together in the past two years than they’d ever had reason to believe they would.

Since they’d been friends for so long, there weren’t many things they didn’t know about each other, like how Calum had a smattering of moles across his shoulder blades, or the way Michael would only eat pizza if he could put candy on it. They knew each other’s secrets and desires and what they wanted from each other and their career and their lives, which would inevitably be intertwined from here on out.

This, though, was entirely new.

Calum knew Michael’s body. Having spent years sharing a bed during sleepovers, cuddling together during movies, cramming into tight bunks together to share song ideas or to facetime their mums back home, he knew where Michael was ticklish and where to poke him to make him jump; he knew how Michael liked to be comforted and the best way to hug him; he knew exactly where to touch and how to touch to reassure Michael during a bout of homesickness or genuine illness or simply in a moment of need.

What he _didn’t_ know was what Michael liked sexually.

He’d reluctantly gained some information about what Luke and Ashton liked, in drunk conversations that everyone regretted in the morning, but whenever Michael had started to talk in that slow, syrupy way he got when he was drunk, Calum had always left the room. So really, Calum had all this knowledge about Michael and what he liked, and a whole frontier for him to explore.

“Get on with it,” Michael said breathlessly, just as demanding as Calum had thought he’d be.

“Yeah, yeah,” Calum mumbled. He was a little busy biting a bruise into Michael’s thigh. For once they had the time that this deserved, he fully intended to _explore_ Michael.

Michael’s stomach was sensitive, as were his palms. He shuddered beautifully when Calum dusted light kisses there. The X tattooed on his finger elicited a surprised moan when Calum sucked three fingers into his mouth.

Other than that moan, though, Michael was quiet. The sounds he made were quiet gasps and hums, which were so unlike his vibrantly loud personality the rest of the time. He squirmed, refusing to hold still, but he was _quiet_.

Calum sort of wanted to see if he could change that.

It took Calum less time than he’d expected to tease those noises out of Michael; he was proud of that and the effect he had on his boyfriend. It took him another minute to dart across the room to his backpack to fish out lube.

“That better not be the sugary novelty shit Luke got,” Michael warned. Calum decided the best way to shut him up was to chuck the bottle at him.

“Look, bog standard personal lubricant,” he said, and dropped back down to lay beside Michael. “Happy?”

“Be happier if you fingered me,” Michael quipped. Calum rolled his eyes but slicked up his fingers carefully, squeezing an extra dollop into Michael’s belly button to make him squeak. He was glad Michael was being snarky; as fun as it was to make Michael whimper and squirm, the snark was part of Michael's charm.

He let first one, then two fingers slip into Michael, sliding deep. He let Michael's moans and whimpers guide him as he pushed his boyfriend ever closer to the edge. He carefully built Michael up, and watched in awe when Michael tumbled over the edge.

“I’ve died,” Michael said, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He had the stunned glow of the thoroughly-well-fucked-and-somehow-surprised-about-it. Calum was both smug and a little offended that Michael hadn’t expected him to be a total sex god, since. Well, he _was_. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Calum grinned and gently patted Michael's dick in a there-there motion. He was absurdly proud of eliciting this reaction from Michael, especially when Michael moaned shamelessly at the contact, reminding Calum that he himself had not yet gotten off.

He rolled his hips, knocking his cock against Michael’s hip as a not-so-gentle reminder that, hello, sex was supposed to be reciprocal and an orgasm would be much appreciated. Michael groaned and then rolled and pinned Calum to the floor.

Michael took his time exploring, like Calum had. He bit bruises into the thin skin over Calum’s collarbones, and sucked marks onto Calum’s hips. Calum jolted upward when Michael stopped teasing and took Calum into his mouth. What followed was probably the best blowjob of Calum’s life; he was pretty sure it was because it was Mikey, and possibly only half because Michael was really good at this.

“When’d you get so good at--fuck, _Mikey_ , ah!”

Michael’s mouth made a truly obscene slurping noise that had Calum moaning before he pulled off to say “Harry taught me a few tricks.”

There was a beat of silence as Michael remembered why, exactly, it might not be a good idea to bring up his ex while in the middle of sex with his lifelong best friend and probably soulmate who hadn’t exactly been fond of that particular ex and might not want to talk about the ex at all, much less in relation to any kind of sex.

They would have to have a talk about that later, when they finally figured out what they wanted to say about it, and when Calum wasn’t on the verge of tears from Michael’s teasing.

The mood probably would have been killed if Michael hadn’t just barrelled onwards, thoroughly distracting Calum and cutting off any potential line of conversation.

It didn’t take long for Calum to come, and not fifteen minutes after that, Michael was pushing for round two. This time, the sex was more giggly and equally intimate. As Calum fucked into him, Michael thought he’d never been happier.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes to a close.

**==**

**NOVEMBER 2013** \--Ashton 19, Michael 17/18, Calum & Luke 17

==

Michael went with Luke when he got his lip pierced. Calum had tried to pierce his bottom lip months before but it hadn’t taken long before he’d gotten an earful from his mum and decided to take it out. Michael was only a little disappointed; while it had been hot on Calum, they hadn’t been dating at the time and it was Calum’s body anyways. At the time Calum had quipped that he’d be the band’s tatted one while Michael was the band’s pierced one. Now that Luke was getting a lip stud, Michael wondered if he could talk Calum into repiercing.

He was busy enough thinking about Calum with a lip ring and maybe an eyebrow piercing that he zoned out during Luke’s safety briefing.

They were in London, setting up for studio time and Michael’s upcoming eighteenth birthday. Unbeknownst to the fans, they were hashing out the last details of their new contract with Capitol Records. Liz and Luke were knee deep in legalese, trying to get the best contract possible for them.

Still thinking, Michael followed Luke to the piercer’s chair and held his hand while the piercer prepped him. He winced sympathetically as the needle went through Luke’s lip, remembering the sting of getting his ears pierced.

“You thinking of getting another one?” The piercer, an attractive woman, asked Michael.

“Not today,” Michael said, but was thinking about it. “Might get my eyebrow done sometime, but not today.”

“Come back and see us if you decide to,” she said, and went back to giving Luke another round of safety instructions.

Leaving the shop, Luke was ridiculously proud of his lip stud, already describing the black ring he wanted once his lip had healed enough.

“I’ve gotta wait two months, but it’s gonna be great,” Luke said, settling into the back of the black SUV. “It’s gonna look fucking awesome.”

“Why a black ring?” Michael asked. “Why not stick with the stud? Or go with, like. Silver or something.”

Luke looked down at his lap. “It’s a little--it’s complicated.”

“I mean, it clearly means a lot to you. I wasn’t this excited when I got my ears pierced.”

“That is a categorical lie.”

“Ooh, big words.” Michael leaned his head on Luke’s shoulder. Their driver was cursing under his breath at the GPS and the London traffic, meaning their conversation was pretty private. “Seriously, Luke. You all good?”

“Yeah, it’s--the ring kind of means a lot to me. I have to wait two months, but--the black ring is a symbol of my sexuality,” he said in a rush, fast enough that Michael almost didn’t catch it.

“What’s a black ring a symbol of?”

“Uh. Asexuality,” Luke said, and stiffened as if he thought Michael was going to push him off and shout at him. “Usually it’s a ring on the right hand middle finger.”

“Oh. Okay. I don’t know much about that. Tell me more?”

“It’s--um. Promise you won’t laugh?”

Michael sat up. “Luke. You’ve heard me and Cal come out to you and Ash. We’ve all seen each other’s dicks. At this point, unless you tell me it’s all a joke I won’t laugh. I’ve been there before, remember?”

“Well, not--not like this, not really.” Luke sighed and pulled out his phone, looking for something. “I’m asexual, and--I’m not attracted to people.”

“What are you attracted to, then?”

“Well, that’s just it--I’m _not_.”

London passed them by, their driver still oblivious to the emotional conversation in the backseat.

“Not attracted to anyone?”

“Well--not sexually. I want to date people, I just--I want them to keep all their junk in their pants. Male or female.”

Michael nodded. “So your crush on Calum?”

“It’s--I wanted to have a crush on Calum, I guess.” Luke bit his lip, then winced, remembering the freshly pierced stud there. “Like--I didn’t like girls like I thought I was supposed to, so I figured I had to like boys. And Calum seemed like a good option to have a crush on.”

“Well, duh.”

Despite himself, Luke laughed. “Well, obviously you think he’s the best person to have a crush on. You’re _dating_ him.”

“And you thought I was dating him back then!”

“You can’t blame me!” Luke sobered. “So. Um. When he came out to us as bi, I started--I started looking into sexualites more than just, like. Straight and gay. And--I found a wikipedia article on asexuality and it was like--oh. _Oh. There’s a word for it. There are other people like me. There’s nothing wrong with me_.”

Michael nodded. “Well--there are plenty of things wrong with you. Like your obsession with penguins!” Luke scowled and punched Michael in the shoulder. “But who you like--or don’t like, I guess--isn’t one of those things.”

Luke sighed and jerked as the car braked suddenly as a car cut in front of them. “I’m--oof! I found a couple of online communities that I joined--under a fake name and email,” he hastily assured Michael. “And--well, a couple of people mentioned ace rings and I got curious, and they’re black rings usually worn on the right middle finger. I thought--wearing it there would be too obvious. People could google it and I’m not ready for people to know. Other than, like, the band and my family and stuff.”

“So why not wear it on a different finger?”

Luke blushed. “I thought of that, but google says black rings anywhere but the right middle finger usually signify that you’re a swinger.”

“A swinger?”

Luke flushed even darker. “Um. Wife-swapper?”

“Oh. OH. Do you think I could convince Calum to do that?” Michael laughed as Luke pushed at him. “Right, serious. So you picked to pierce your lip?”

“Black lip ring on the right hand side,” Luke confirmed, touching gently at the stud. “I can have it in two months.”

“It’ll look good.”

“It’ll mean a lot to me.”

“Why wear it if it’s not going to represent you to the community, or whatever?” Michael asked softly, a minute later.

“It’s--it’s for me. Not a lot of people recognize the rings, according to the forums, but people wear them anyways. Like--this is a symbol of my community. I wear this ring like other people wear this ring. It means something, even if no one else knows it.”

“So basically you’re all Superman with the uniform under your normal stuff.”

Luke broke out into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that thinking.”

==

Michael’s eighteenth birthday was pretty laidback. They’d had a stressful month, with Luke coming out to all three of them--and his mum--individually, writing and recording for their upcoming releases. The end result was that all four of them weren’t up for any kind of big party, and Michael wasn’t a fan of huge fusses anyways, not when he wasn’t the one instigating them.

Calum gifted his boyfriend an oversized Pikachu onesie, which Michael immediately fell in love with. Ashton gave Michael an assortment of xbox games and an IOU for five matches of FIFA; coming from Ashton, that was a pretty good gift. Luke seemed to go more for the kitschy presents that year; he produced an autographed Union J poster and a basket of 1D merch. After letting Michael sulk for a good twenty minutes, Luke produced his actual present: an IOU for a tattoo.

Michael was already planning what he wanted to get as they planned to go out to celebrate. When Michael had been crowned birthday king that morning, he’d demanded karaoke, and his bandmates had obliged; they headed out to a karaoke and cocktail bar with Liz and Mali-Koa in tow. Michael relished in the ability to buy his own drinks, and graciously bought Calum a drink only slightly less ridiculous than his own, a bright pink monstrosity that tasted like cotton-candy.

“Jesus, Michael,” Calum said, but accepted the drink. It was in a fishbowl shaped glass, so he cradled it in his palms. “What the fuck is this?”

“Well, if you don’t _want_ it--”

“No, I want it,” Calum said. He took a defensive sip and spluttered immediately. “Something this pink should not be this strong.”

“It’s the cocktails that get you,” Mali said sagely, as Michael chipped in with “that’ll be the extra marshmallow vodka in it then.”

Calum rolled his eyes and took another sip.

“Ash got everyone a round of--what the _fuck_ is that, Calum?”

“Cotton candy with marshmallow vodka on top,” Michael told him cheerfully. “And seltzer.”

“I want some,” Luke whined, making grabby hands.

“No, it’s Calum’s.” Michael grinned. “Birthday boy decree. Now queue me up some karaoke, bitches.”

“One Direction?” Mali teased.

“I don’t care, as long as I know the words and get to laugh at everyone else messing them up.” Michael handwaved at Calum. “You, romantic duet with me. Surprise me on the song.”

“Yessir,” Calum said. He leaned over to kiss Michael on the mouth before sliding out of their booth to collect karaoke request cards. He tasted like sugar and vodka. Michael sighed happily. As nicely ridiculous as his Fuzzy Navel was, Calum’s drink was indefinitely sweeter.

True to his word, Calum picked something ridiculously romantic that caused Luke to pretend to gag and Michael to swoon a little bit.

 

**==**

**DECEMBER 2013** \--Ashton 19, Michael 18, Calum & Luke 17

==

 

They flew home for Christmas. It was their longest break of the year, a full month before their schedules demanded them back for another cycle of promo and touring. It was a good break before their schedules really picked up again. They had a few scattered commitments, but nothing exhaustive, like their tour schedule tended to be.

They sat in pairs on the plane, Luke next to Calum and Ashton with Michael. As much as Michael loved his boyfriend, he also liked spending time with his friends, and if he sat next to Calum on an eighteen hour flight, they’d just end up making out and give a few too many people a show.

He did take regular walks up and down the aisle to quell his discomfort with flying--he’d never really gotten over that--and after one trip he found Luke in his seat with Calum standing in the aisle.

“--a break from each other,” Luke was saying.

“Could you get out of my seat?” Michael asked, without any heat to it. Luke rolled his eyes but didn’t move. Calum slid an arm around Michael’s waist. “Right, what are we talking about?”

“Luke thinks we see too much of each other,” Ashton said. “He might even be right.”

Calum nodded, and then leaned his head on top of Michael’s. “So we just avoid each other for a month?”

“Not _avoid_ ,” Luke said. “Just--not be at each other’s houses every day.”

“I’m gonna sneak in your window, Mike,” Calum said excitedly. “Like, we’re gonna do actual fucking dates.”

Luke pretended to gag. He did that any time Calum and Michael reminded him that they were dating, and was more comfortable expressing his discomfort with PDA now that he’d come out to them.

“Shaddup,” Calum said, and thumped Luke on the ear. “He’s hot, I’m hot, we do this whole dating thing well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled and got out of Michael’s seat. “Anyone been on twitter recently? Seen the reaction to Capital?”

“There's a lot of buzz about what it means for our record,” Ashton said immediately. “But everyone seems good with it.”

Michael reclaimed his seat. Calum patted him on the head and then returned to his own seat four rows up, getting to the window before Luke could.

==

As it turned out, the hardest part wasn't figuring out that he was in love with Calum. It wasn't keeping their relationship to themselves and the people who mattered most.

The hardest part was _telling_ the people who mattered the most.

Michael had stumbled into Calum at six years old, and then again at twelve, and had never really fallen away. Out of the past six years, he’d seen Calum daily, had seen Calum more than he'd seen his own mum and dad.

But his mum was still his mum, and while he might not broadcast his relationship out to the public--because no matter what they shared with their fans, there were things he and Calum just wanted for themselves--he couldn't just _not_ tell his mother. His conversation with his mum was short and sweet, his mum glad he’d been honest and Michael glad he’d told her.

As his conversation went on, careful and polite, Calum was having his own conversation a few blocks away. He sat at the kitchen table with his Mum, sipping cups of coffee. He was helping her peel potatoes and chop vegetables for a heavy stew that she made every time he came home. It was his favorite, and it was now tradition.

“So, what have you been doing, Cal-e?” his mum asked, hands certain as she diced tomatoes.

“Recording an album?” he said, and tried to describe the process of writing and recording songs. She’d heard this description a million times before and never really understood it, but she still listened, to both his description and Mali’s.

“And your romantic life? Any girlfriend you’ll be bringing home?”

Calum took a deep breath. “No girlfriends. But--a boyfriend.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Would I happen to know this someone?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling like he’d been caught at something, even though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong. “Yeah--yeah, you know them.”

“Are you going to tell me who?”

“It’s, uh. It’s Michael.”

“Michael Clifford?” To her credit, she looked at least a little surprised. “Well, I owe Karen five dollars now.”

“What?”

“She bet years ago that this would happen.”

“You bet on us?”

She laughed. Then she went and got a jar from the top of the fridge, changing the subject. “Well. Don’t tell your father I’ve got these, he’d eat them all and they’re mine.”

It was a jar of lemon drops, his mum’s favorite candy, a favorite she’d passed on to him. He took a sugared drop and put it on his tongue where it dissolved in a burst of lemony sugar.

“So. You’re dating Michael. How long?”

He thought about it. “Officially, or in practice?”

“Well, which is more relevant?”

“Officially, about--two months, probably. If you believe Luke and Ashton, more like three years.”

“I’m inclined to believe Ashton and Luke.” Joy took a lemon drop for herself. “You two are being safe? You’re happy?”

“No, he’s. He’s Mikey, Mum. I know I’m young, but. I can’t imagine being with anyone else, not really. Maybe it’s because we’re on tour all the time, but I loved him before, I think.”

“Well, then.” Mum dusted her hands off and leaned back in the chair. “As long as I get grandbabies.”

Calum’s jaw dropped “I’m _seventeen_ , Mum!”

“Oh, I know.” She levelled one of her steely gazes at him, and Calum sunk a little lower in his seat. “At least I don’t have to worry about you impregnating some girl on the other side of the world.”

“ _Mum_!”

“Well, you and Mali will have to discuss who’s giving me my first. Your dad will want to know as well, so he can start planning how best to spoil your children.”

“Dad wants grandkids?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Calum considered that and found that, yeah, he could see that.

“Why weren’t you surprised?” Calum asked.

“Well, he’s been in all our family photo albums for going on five years now,” she said. “Let me go find them.” When his mum had finished searching for the photo albums and pointing out all the places that Michael appeared, they had a bit of a more serious conversation.

“Karen and I always had an inkling,” she said, and smiled, bright and proud. “I wasn’t sure for years, but you...well, you were always so certain that Michael was your most important person, even more than me or your dad or Mali-Koa. When you were ten you asked if you could marry Michael, and I told you it wasn’t legal here in Australia. I hated the idea of you two for years--not because there was anything wrong with being gay,” she hastened to assure him, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. “But because I wanted the easy road for you, and, well. That’s not the road easily travelled, is it?”

Calum shook his head and tried to look away, but she kept her hand cupped against his cheek, cool and soothing.

“I think you must’ve taken it to heart then, because you and Michael had a falling out for a few years. When you became friends again, you were happier than I’d seen you in a long time. The only way you would’ve been happier was if Michael joined your footie team.”

Joy laughed when Calum flushed and nodded, agreeing.

“He’s always meant so much to you,” she continued. “And you weren’t exactly subtle when you were figuring yourselves out, neither of you. Remember Carly?”

Calum thought about it, and it felt like honest lifetimes ago, when he still went to classes and wore a uniform and spent sunny afternoons lazing in the pool with Michael, when 5 Seconds of Summer was barely a hobby and more of an excuse to dick around and listen to good music, much less an entire career.

“Michael didn’t talk to you for a _week_.” Joy took apart a cookie, piece by piece. “You were more upset and hurt about Michael ignoring you than you were about Carly dumping you _over_ Michael. That was a bit of a hint to Karen and I. When Michael was carrying on with Harry--don’t look at me like that, Michael talks to Karen and Karen talks to me--you were miserable. When you’ve got ten years of friendship, and four years of that living together, and you’ve got a bond with Michael more intense than anything you’ve got with Luke or Ashton...no, I wasn’t surprised.” She sat back, and her expression suddenly sobered. “Should I have pretended to be surprised? I can do that, if you want.”

“No, you don’t have to pretend to be surprised.”

Joy smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Mali-Koa will want to talk to you.”

“I might’ve already told her?”

Joy nodded, not looking surprised in the least. “Is it alright for me to tell your father?”

Calum swallowed. “Is he going to be mad?”

“He won’t be mad,” she said after a long pause. “Disappointed, maybe a little. Certainly confused. You know your father. He loves you, he just…”

“Doesn’t know how to say it,” Calum finished. Joy hummed agreement.

“We’re the products of our upbringing,” she told him. “And I like to think we brought you up right. You and Mali-Koa are his pride and joy, you should hear him brag about you when you’re off touring the world, the both of you.”

“Be happy, be safe,” Joy said, and smiled at him. “And bring Michael over for dinner while you’re still home, okay?”

==

Calum expected dinner to be awkward, the way it was when Mali had brought home her first girlfriend, but it wasn’t at all. There was an ease there between the Cliffords and the Hoods, and Calum was happy it was how it was.

==

 

 

 **JANUARY 2014** \--Ashton 19, Michael 18, Calum 17/18, Luke 17

==

 

 

After everything, it was kind of peaceful, to go on tour, to see fans, to crawl into Michael’s bunk after shows. Calum had always known Michael was special, and he was so, so glad it was Michael everything was happening with.

“I hate Luke Hemmings,” Michael said, almost absently. He was eating Doritos out of the bag as they sat on the grassy area of a park, waiting for someone to tell them off or a fan to find them.

Luke made a noise of protest but didn’t move, soaking in as much sun as he could. “You’re a dick,” he said lazily.

“You don’t hate Luke,” Calum added, resting comfortably between Michael’s legs, his head tipped back to rest on Michael’s shoulder. “We love Luke. And sometimes Ashton. Ow!”

Ashton had pinched Calum’s calf. “Why do you hate Luke, Michael?”

“This is all Luke’s fault,” Michael said, pulling Calum back to settle against his chest again.

“Define ‘this’” Ashton said at the same time Luke decided to flip Michael off.

“The band,” Michael said. “And by extension, me and Calum.”

“No, trust me, getting you and Calum together was not my priority,” Luke said. He still hadn’t bothered to sit up. Calum stole a Dorito from Michael’s bag.

“How’d’ya hate Luke for that?”

“Well, if Cal and I hadn’t been so paranoid about fucking up the band, I figure we’d’ve gotten together sooner.”

“No, you’re just emotionally constipated,” Luke shot back.

From the venue, Calum could hear their manager shouting for them to come back in, that soundcheck was about to start.

“Think we should actually go?”

“Nah,” Michael said. His hair was a different sort of green from the grass but he still managed to blend in lazily. “Let’s stay here forever.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to play a show?” Ashton teased. He pushed to his feet and scowled down at them good-naturedly. “Cos I was thinking I could play guitar and we’d get Josh to play drums and then we wouldn’t _need_ you, Mikey.” Calum grumped at Ashton--that was _his_ nickname for Michael.

Michael stuck his tongue out and sat up. “Right. Still hate you, Luke.”

“Hey!” Luke protested, and chucked his empty water bottle at Michael. He missed and hit Calum, which of course meant Michael had to chase Luke back to the venue brandishing the bottle.

Ashton rolled his eyes and helped Calum up.

This excited energy would carry over to their performance that night, Calum knew already. It’d be a hell of a good show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this is over after a year and multiple months of writing, Longfic is finally done.  
> Thanks to so many people for helping it come to this point, and hopefully my next project won't take quite so long!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos?  
> Again, come talk to me on tumblr at satellitesandfallingstars! This project is kind of my baby, so I'm willing to answer like literally anything about it.


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